Classic Audiobook Collection - Olive by Dinah Maria Craik ~ Full Audiobook [romance]

Starting point is 00:00:00 olive by dinah maria crake chapter one puir we lassie ye he hae some welcome to a waysome world such was the first greeting ever received by my heroine olive rothsay however she would be then entitled neither a heroine nor even olive rothsay being a small nameless concretion of humanity in color and consistency strongly resembling the red earth whence was taken the father of all nations no foreshadowing of the coming life brightened her purple pinched up withered face which as in all new-born children bore such a ridiculous likeness to extreme old age No tone of the all-expressive human voice thrilled through the unconscious wail that was her first utterance, and in her wide-open, meaningless eyes had never dawned the beautiful human soul. There she lay, as you and I, reader, with all our compiers, lay once, a helpless lump of breathing flesh, faintly stirred by animal life, and scarce at all by that inner life which we call spirit,

Starting point is 00:01:10 And if we thus look back, half in compassion, half in humiliation, at our infantile likeness, may it not be that in the world to come, some who in this world bore an outward image poor, mean, and degraded, will cast a glance of equal pity on their well-remembered olden selves, now transfigured into beautiful immortality. I seem to be wandering from my olive Roth say, but time will show the contrary. Poor little spirit, newly come to earth who knows whether that way of a while, some welcome may not be a prophecy. The old nurse seemed almost to dread this, even while she uttered it, for with superstition from which not an old wife in Scotland is altogether free,

Starting point is 00:01:51 she changed the dolorous croon into a good guide us, and pressing the babe to her aged breast, bestowed a hearty blessing upon her nursling of the second generation, the child of him who was at once her master and her foster son. And where's me that he's safe far away, and cannot do it himself? "'My bonnie-bearn, you're coming to the world without a father's blessing.' Perhaps the good soul's clasp was the tenderer, and her warm heart throbbed the warmer to the newborn child, for a passing remembrance of her own two fatherless babes, who now slept, as close together as when twin laddies they had nestled in one mother's bosom, slept beneath the wide Atlantic which marks the sea-boy's grave.

Starting point is 00:02:33 Nevertheless, the memory was now grown so dim with years that it vanished the moment the infant waked and began to cry. Rocking to and fro, the nurse tuned her cracked voice to a long-forgotten lullaby, something about a boaty. It was stopped by a hand on her shoulder, followed by the approximation of a face which, in its bland gravity, bore MD on every line. Well, my good—excuse me, but I forget your name. Elspeth?

Starting point is 00:03:01 Or, mere commonly, Elsby Murray? I know an ill name, doctor. The morris of Perth were— No doubt. "'No doubt, Mrs. El-Sappie. "'Elspie, sir! How d'ore ye cammy out of my name? We are uncivil English tongue.' "'Well, then, Elsby, or what the deuce you like,' said the doctor, vexed out of his proprieties. But his rosy face became rosier when he met the horrified and sternly reproachful

Starting point is 00:03:26 stare of Elspie's keen blue eyes as she turned round. A whole volume of sermons expressed in her, "'A, sir?' Then she added, quietly, "'I'll thank you no to speak ill words in the ears?' to this puer, innocent newborn ween, it's no canny. "'Humph! I suppose I must beg pardon again. I shall never get out what I wanted to say, which is that you must be quiet, my good dame, and you must keep Mrs. Rothsay quiet. She is a delicate young creature, you know, and must have every possible comfort that she needs.' The doctor glanced round the room as though there was scarce enough comfort for his

Starting point is 00:04:00 notions of worldly necessity. Yet, though not luxurious, the antechamber and the room half revealed beyond it seemed to furnish all that could be needed by an individual of moderate fortune and desires, and an eye more romantic and poetic than that of the worthy Medico might have found ample atonement for the want of rich furniture within, in the magnificent view without. The windows looked down on a lovely champagne, through which the many winding forth span its silver network, until, vanishing in the distance, a white sparkle here and there only showed whither the river wandered. In the distance the blue mountains rose to the river. In the distance the blue mountains rose-like clouds marking the horizon. The foreground of this landscape was formed by the hill,

Starting point is 00:04:41 castle-crowned, than which there is none in the world more beautiful or more renowned. In short, Olive Rothsay shared with many a king and hero the honor of her place of nativity. She was born at Stirling. Perhaps the circumstance of birth has more influence over character than many matter-of-fact people would imagine. It is pleasant in afterlife to think that we first opened our eyes in a spot famous in the world's story, or remarkable for natural beauty. It is sweet to say, Those are my mountains, or, this is my fair valley, and there is a delight, almost like that of a child who glories in his noble or beautiful parents, in the grand historical pride which links us to

Starting point is 00:05:20 the place where we were born. So this little morsel of humanity, yet unnamed, whom, by an allowable prescience we have called olive, may perhaps be somewhat influenced in afterlife by the fact that her cradle was rocked under the shadow of the hill of Stirling, and that the first breezes which fanned her baby brow came from the Highland Mountains. But the excellent presiding genius at this interesting advent cared for none of these things. Dr. Jacob Johnson stood at the window with his hands in his pockets. To him the wide, beautiful world was merely a field for the exercise of the medical profession, a place where old women died and children were born. He watched the shadows darkening over Ben Letty, calculating how to the shadows darkening

Starting point is 00:06:01 much longer he ought in propriety to stay with his present patient, and whether he should have time to run home and take a cozy dinner and a bottle of port before he was again required. "'Our sweet young patient is doing well, I think, nurse,' said he at last, in his most benevolent tones. "'You may say that, doctor, you soot, can. I might almost venture to leave her, except that she seems so lonely, without friend or nurse, save yourself.' "'And was the best nurse for Captain Angus Rothesay's wife?

Starting point is 00:06:31 and bairn but the woman that nursed himself said elspie lifting up her tall gaunt frame and for the second time frowning the little doctor into confused silence an as for friends ye s'l just be uncou gladder the chance that gared the leady bide here and no among her own folk else there would not have been such a sad welcome for her bonny bairn maybe a war though added the woman to herself with a sigh as she once more half buried her little nursling in her capacious embrace "'I have not the slightest doubt of Captain Rothsay's respectability,' answered Dr. Johnson. "'Respectability, applied to the scions of a family which had had the honor of being nearly extirpated at Flood and Field, and again at Pinky. Had the trusty follower of the Rothsays heard the term, she certainly would have been inclined to annihilate the presumptuous Englishman. But she was fortunately engaged instilling the cries of the poor infant, who, in return for the pains she took in addressing it, began to give full evidence that the weakness of its lungs was not at all proportionate to the smallness of its size. Crying will do it good. A fine child, a very fine child, observed the doctor, as he made ready for his departure,

Starting point is 00:07:41 while the nurse proceeded in her task, and the heap of white drapery was gradually removed, until from beneath it appeared a very, very tiny specimen of babyhood. "'You need no trouble yourself to say what's not true,' was the answer. "'It's just a bit barney, uncle's ma'am, and that's na wonder. considering the puer mither's trouble and the father is gone abroad just twa mon sincine but eh doctor look ye here suddenly cried elsby as with her great brown but tender hand she was rubbing down the delicate spine of the now quieted babe well what's the matter now said dr johnson rather sulkily as he laid down his hat and gloves the child is quite perfect rather small perhaps but as nice a little girl as ever was seen it's all right it's no erect cried the nurse in a tone trembling between anger and apprehension doctor see she pointed with her finger to a slight curve at the upper part of the spine between the shoulder and neck the doctor's professional anxiety was aroused he came near and examined the little creature with a countenance that grew graver each instant ah we'll said elsby inquiringly i wish i had noticed this before but it would have been of no use he answered his bland tones made earnest by real feet

Starting point is 00:08:57 feeling. "'A what?' said the nurse. "'I am sorry to say that the child is deformed. Slightly so, very slightly, I hope, but most certainly deformed. Hump-backed.' At this terrible sentence Elsby sank back in her chair. Then she started up, clasping the child convulsively and faced the doctor. "'Ye le? You ugly creep in Englisher! How dare ye speak so of any of the rothsays?

Starting point is 00:09:24 For the blue to wilt came the taillest men and the bonniest laddies, "'Nere a cripple among them, ah! "'How dare ye say that my master's bairn would be a—' "'Where's me? I can't all speak the word.' "'My poor woman,' mildly said the doctor, "'I am really concerned. "'Hawd your tongue ye fool,' muttered Elsby. "'While she again laid the child in her lap

Starting point is 00:09:45 "'and examined it earnestly for herself, "'the result confirmed all. "'She wrung her hands and rocked to and fro, "'moaning aloud. "'O come the weary day! "'Oh, my dear master! My bairn that I nursed on my knee! How will ye come back and see your first-born?

Starting point is 00:10:02 The last o the Rothsays! A puir beat crippled lassie! A faint call from the inner room startled both doctor and nurse. Good heavens! exclaimed the former. We must think of the mother. Stay, I'll go. She does not, and she must not know of this. What a blessing that I have already told her the child was a fine and perfect child.

Starting point is 00:10:21 Poor thing! Poor thing! he added passionately. As he hurried to his patient, leaving else be hushed into silence, still mournfully gazing on her charge. It would have been curious to mark the changes in the nurse's face during that brief interval. At first it wore a look almost of repugnance as she regarded the unconscious child, and then that very unconsciousness seemed to awaken her womanly compassion.

Starting point is 00:10:45 "'Pure hapless ween! You little Cairn what you're coming to! Lack a kinsman's love! And lack a stiller and lack of beauty! God forgive me! But why did he send ye into the way for you? world, it is ah. It was a question, the nature of which has perplexed theologians, philosophers, and metaphysicians in every age, and will perplex them all to the end of time. No wonder,

Starting point is 00:11:09 therefore, that it could not be solved by the poor simple Scotswoman. But as she stood hushing the child to her breast, and looking vacantly out of the window at the far mountains which grew golden in the sunset, she was unconsciously soothed by the scene, and settled the matter in a way which wiser heads might often do with advantage. Ah, well, he can's best, he made the world in all that's int, and maybe he will gee into this poor wee thing, a meek spirit to bear ill luck. Ain must work and neither suffer, as the minister says, it'll all come richt at last. Still the babe slept on, the sun sank, and night fell upon the earth.

Starting point is 00:11:46 And so the morning and evening made the first day of the new existence, which was about to be developed, through all the various phases which compose that strange and touching mystery, a woman's life. End of Chapter 1. Chapter 2 of Olive. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dinah Maria Crake. Chapter 2.

Starting point is 00:12:19 There is not a more hackneyed subject for poetic enthusiasm than that sight, perhaps the loveliest in nature, a young mother with her first-born child, and perhaps because it is so lovely and is ever re-revelled. renewed in its beauty, the world never tires of dwelling thereupon. Any poet, painter, or sculptor, would certainly have raved about Mrs. Rothsay, had he seen her in the days of convalescence, sitting at the window with her baby on her knee. She furnished that rare sight, and one that is becoming rarer as the world grows older, an exquisitely beautiful woman. Would there were more of such, that the idea of physical beauty might pass into the heart through the eyes,

Starting point is 00:12:59 and bring with it the ideal of the soul's perfection, which our senses can only thus receive. So great is this influence, so unconsciously do we associate the type of spiritual with material beauty, that perhaps the world might have been purer and better, if its onward progress in what it calls civilization had not so nearly destroyed the fair mold of symmetry and loveliness which tradition celebrates. It would have done anyone's heart good only to look at Sibilla Rothsay. She was a creature to watch from a distance, and then to go away and dream of, wondering whether she were a woman or a spirit. As for describing her it is almost impossible, but let us try.

Starting point is 00:13:39 She was very small in stature and proportions, quite a little fairy. Her cheek had the soft peachy hue of girlhood, nay, of very childhood. You would never have thought her a mother. She lay back, half buried in the great armchair, and then suddenly springing up from amidst the cloud of white muslins and laces that enveloped her, she showed her young, blithe face. I will not have that cap, Elsby. I am not an invalid now, and I don't choose to be an old matron yet, she said, in a pretty willful way, as she threw off the ugly, ponderous production of her nurse's active fingers, and exhibited her beautiful head. It was indeed a beautiful head, exquisite in shape,

Starting point is 00:14:20 with masses of light brown hair folded round it. The little rosy ear peeped out, forming the commencement of that rare and dainty curve of chin and throat, so pleasant to an artist's eye, a beauty to be lingered over among all other beauties. Then the delicately outlined mouth, the lips folded over in a lovely gravity that seemed ready each moment to melt away into smiles. Her nose! But who would destroy the romance of a beautiful woman by such an illusion? Of course, Mrs. Rothsay had a nose. But it was so entirely in harmony with the rest of her face that you never thought whether it were Roman, Grecian, or Aquiline. Her eyes eyes. She has two eyes, so soft and brown, she gives a side-glance and looks down. But was there a soul

Starting point is 00:15:03 in this exquisite form? You never asked, you hardly cared. You took the thing for granted, and whether it were so or not, you felt that the world and yourself especially ought to be thankful for having looked at so lovely an image, if only to prove that the earth still possessed such a thing as ideal beauty, and you forgave all the men in every age that have run mad for the same. Sometimes, perchance, you would pause a moment, to ask if this magic were real, and remember the calm, holy airs that breathed from the presence of some woman, beautiful only in her soul. But then you never would have looked upon Sibylla Rothsay as a woman at all, only a flesh and blood fairy, a Venus D' Medici transmuted from the stone. Perhaps this was the way in which Captain Angus

Starting point is 00:15:47 Rothesay contrived to fall in love with Sibilla Hyde, until he woke from the dream to find his seraph of beauty, baby bride, pouting like a vexed child, because in their sudden elopement she had neither wedding bonnet nor Brussels Vale. And now she was a baby mother, playing with her infant as, not so very long since she had played with her doll, twisting its tiny fingers and making them clothes tightly round her own, which were quite as elfin-like, comparatively. For Mrs. Rothsay's surpassing beauty included beautiful hands and feet, a blessing which nature, often niggerly in her gifts does not always extend to pretty women, but bestows it on those who have infinitely more reason to be thankful for the boon.

Starting point is 00:16:29 "'See, Nurse Elspie,' said Mrs. Rothsay, laughing in her childish way, "'see how fast the little creature holds my finger! Really, I think a baby is a very pretty thing, and it will be so nice to play with until Angus comes home.' Elspie turned round from the corner where she sat sewing, and looked with a half-suppressed sigh at her master's wife, whose delicate English beauty and quick, ringing English voice, formed such a strong contrast to herself, and were so opposed to her own peculiar prejudices. But she had learned to love the young creature nevertheless, and for the thousandth time she smothered the half-unconscious thought that Captain Angus might have chosen better.

Starting point is 00:17:09 "'Children are a blessing for the Lord as maybe you'll see any of these days, Mrs. Rothsay,' said Elseby gravely. "'Yaman take them as their scent and make the best of them.' "'Mrs. Rothsay laughed merrily. "'Thank you, Elspie, for giving me such a solemn speech, just like one of my husbands. "'To put me in mind of him, I suppose, as if there were any need for that. "'Dear Angus, I wonder what he will say to his little daughter when he sees her, "'the new Miss Rothsay, who has come in opposition to the old Miss Rothsay, ha!

Starting point is 00:17:39 "'The old Miss Rothsay, she's your husband's aunt,' observed Elspie, "'feeling it necessary to stand up for the honour of the family. Miss Flora was a comely ledience, as other Rotheses were. And this Miss Rothesay will be too, I hope, though she is such a little brown thing now, but people say that the brownest babies grow the fairest in time, a nurse? They do say that, replied Elsby, with another and a heavier sigh, as she bent closer over her work. Mrs. Rothesay went on in her blithe chatter.

Starting point is 00:18:09 I half wished for a boy, as Captain Rothesay thought it would please his uncle, but that's of no consequence. He will be quite satisfied with a girl, and so am I. Of course she will be a beauty, my dear little baby. And with a deeper mother love piercing through her childish pleasure, she bent over the infant, then took it up, awkwardly and comically enough, as though it were a toy she was afraid of breaking, and rocked it to and fro on her breast.

Starting point is 00:18:34 Elsby started up. Tuck tent! Tent! You'll hurt it, maybe, the poor wee! Oh, what was I going to say? Don't trouble yourself, said the young mother, with a charming assumption of matronly dignity, I shall hold the baby safe,

Starting point is 00:18:48 I know all about it. And she really did succeed in lulling the child to sleep, which was no sooner accomplished than she recommenced her pleasant musical chatter, partly addressed to her nurse, but chiefly the unconscious overflow of a simple nature

Starting point is 00:19:01 which could not conceal a single thought. I wonder what I shall call her, the darling, we must not wait until her papa comes home. She can't be baby for three years. I shall have to decide on her name myself. Oh, what a pity! I, who never could decide anything! Poor dear Angus! He does all! He had even to fix the wedding day! And her musical laugh, another rare charm that she possessed,

Starting point is 00:19:26 caused Elsby to look round with mingled pity and affection. Come, nurse, you can help me, I know. I am puzzling my poor head for a name to give this young lady here. It must be a very pretty one. I wonder what Angus would like. A family name, perhaps, after one of those old Rothsay's that you and he make so much of. Oh, Mrs. Rothsay, and are you no proud of your husband's family? Yes, very proud, especially as I have none of my own. He took me, an orphan, without a single tie in the wide world, he took me into his warm, loving arms.

Starting point is 00:20:01 Here her voice faltered, and a sweet womanly tenderness softened her eyes. God bless my noble husband, I am proud of him, and of his people, and of all his race. So come, she added, her childish manner, reviving. Tell me of the remarkable women in the Rothsay family for the last five hundred years. You know all about them, Elsby. Surely will find one to be a namesake for my baby. Elsby, pleased and important, began eagerly to relate long traditions about the Lady Christina Rothsay, who was a witch, and a great friend of Mastor Michael Scott, and how, with spells, she caused her seven step-sons to pine away and die. Also the Lady Isabel, who let her lover down

Starting point is 00:20:41 from her bower window with the long strings of her golden hair, and how her brother found and slew him. Whence she laid a curse on all the line who had golden hair, and such never prospered, but died unmarried and young. "'I hope the curse has passed away now,' Gayly said the young mother, "'and that the latest scion will not be a golden-trust damsel, yet look here.' And she touched the soft down beneath her infant's cap, which might, by a considerable exercise of imagination, be called hair. "'It is yellow, you see, Elsby.' but I'll not believe your tradition.

Starting point is 00:21:14 My child shall be both beautiful and beloved. Smitten with a sudden pang, poor Elspie cried, Oh, my lady, did not think of the future, din'er! And she stopped, confused. Really, how strange you are! But go on, we'll have no more Christina's nor Isabelle's. Hurriedly, Elsby continued to relate the histories, of noble Jean Rothsay, who died by an arrow aimed at her husband's heart,

Starting point is 00:21:38 and Allison, her sister, the beauty of James the Fe, Fifth's reckless court, who was, no good, and Mistress Catherine Roth, say, who hid two of the princes's soldiers after Colluddin, and stood with a pair of pistols before their bolted door. "'Nay, I'll have none of these. They frighten me,' said Sibylla. "'I wonder I ever had courage to marry the descendant of such awful women. "'No, my sweet innocent, you shall not be christened after them,' she continued, stroking the baby cheek with her soft finger. "'You shall not be like them at all, except in their beauty.

Starting point is 00:22:10 and they were all handsome, were they else be? "'Nare any other Rothsay line, man or woman that was not fair to see? "'Then so will my baby be, like her father, I hope, "'or just a little like her mother who is not so very ugly either, "'at least Angus says not. "'And Mrs. Rothsay drew up her tiny figure, "'patted one dainty hand, the wedded one, with its very fellow, "'and then, touched perhaps, with a passing melancholy

Starting point is 00:22:35 "'that he who most prized her beauty, "'and for whose sake she most prized it herself was far away, She leaned back and sighed. However, in a few minutes she cried out, her words showing how light and wandering was the reverie. "'Elsby, I have a thought. The baby shall be christened olive.' "'It's a strange he-the name, Mrs. Rothsay.' "'Not at all. Listen how I chanced to think of it. This very morning, just before you came to waken me, I had such a queer, delicious dream.'

Starting point is 00:23:03 "'Dream? Are you sure it was he the morning tide?' cried Elsby, aroused into interest. "'Yes, and so it certainly means something, you will say, Elspie. "'Well, it was about my baby. "'She was then lying fast asleep in my bosom, "'and her warm, soft breathing soon sent me to sleep, too. "'I dreamt that somehow I had gradually let her go from me, "'so that I felt her in my arms no more, and I was very sad, "'and cried out how cruel it was for anyone to steal my child,

Starting point is 00:23:31 "'until I found I had let her go of my own accord. "'Then I looked up, after a while, "'and saw standing at the foot of the bed a little, little angel, a child angel, with a green olive branch in its hand. It told me to follow, so I rose up and followed it over a wide desert country, and across rivers and among wild beasts, but at every peril the child held out the olive branch and we passed on safely. And when I felt weary, and my feet were bleeding with the rough journey, the little angel touched them with the olive and I was strong again. At last we reached a beautiful valley, and the child said, You are quite safe now.

Starting point is 00:24:08 "'And who is my beautiful comforting angel? "'Then the white wings fell off, "'and I only saw a sweet child's face, "'which bore something of Angus's likeness "'and something of my own, "'and the little one stretched out her hands and said, "'Mother!' "'While Mrs. Rothsay spoke,

Starting point is 00:24:24 "'her thoughtless manner had once more softened into deep feeling. "'Elspie watched her with wondering eagerness. "'It was ne' dream. "'It was a vision. "'God send it true,' said the old woman solemnly. "'I know not.' "'Angus always laughed at my dreams, but I have a strange feeling whenever I think of this. "'Oh, Elsby, you can't tell how sweet it was. And so I should like to call my baby Olive,

Starting point is 00:24:48 "'for the sake of the beautiful angel. It may be foolish, but tis a fancy of mine. "'Avroth say, it sounds well, and Olive Roth say she shall be. "'Amen, and may she be an angel till ye a her days? "'And you'll mind the blessed dream and love her ever mare. "'Oh, my sweet letty, promise me that she will!' cried the nurse. approaching her mistress's chair, while two great tears stole down her hard cheeks. "'Of course I shall love her dearly. What made you doubt it? Because I am so young? Nay, I have a mother's heart, though I am only eighteen. Come, Elsby, do let us be merry. Send these drops away.'

Starting point is 00:25:25 And she patted the old withered face with her little hand. Was it not you who told me the saying? It's ill- greeting over a newborn wean? There, don't I succeed charmingly in your northern tongue? What a winning little creature she was, this young wife of Angus Rothsay. A pity he had not seen her, the old Highland uncle, Miss Flora's brother, who had disinherited his nephew and promised heir for bringing him a Sassanac niece. A charming scene of maternal felicity, I am quite sorry to intrude upon it, said a bland voice at the door, as Dr. Johnson put in his shining bald head. Mrs. Rothsay welcomed him in her graceful, cordial way. She was so ready to cling to everyone who showed her

Starting point is 00:26:05 kindness, and he had been very kind, so kind that, with her usual quick impulses, she had determined to stay and live at Sterling until her husband's return from Jamaica. She told Dr. Johnson so now, and, moreover, as an earnest of the friendship which she, accustomed to be loved by everyone expected from him, she requested him to stand godfather to her little babe. She shall be christened after our English fashion, doctor, and her name shall be Olive. What do you think of her now? Is she growing prettier? The doctor bowed a smiling ascent, and walked to the window. Thither Elspie followed him. "'You won't tell her the truth? I dornah? You will?'

Starting point is 00:26:43 And she clutched his arm with eager anxiety. And oh, for good sake, say it safely, kindly? He shook her off with an uneasy look. He had never felt in a more disagreeable position. Mrs. Rothsay called him back again. I think, Doctor, her features are improving. She will certainly be a beauty. I should break my heart if she were not. And what would Angus say? say, come, what are you and Elsby talking about so mysteriously? My dear madam, hem, began Dr. Johnson. I do hope, indeed I am sure your child will be a good child and a great comfort to both her parents. Certainly, but how grave you are about it.

Starting point is 00:27:23 I have a painful duty, a very painful duty, he replied, but Elsby pushed him aside. You're just a fool, man, you'll kill her? Say your say it, aunts. The young mother turned deadly pale. "'Say what, Elsby? What is he going to tell me? Angus? "'No, no, my darling, letty, your husband's safe?' "'And Elsby flung herself on her knees beside the chair. "'But the lassie did not fear for the will of God and for good nay doubt. "'Your sweet wee doctor as—'

Starting point is 00:27:53 "'Is, I grieved to say it, deformed,' added Dr. Johnson. "'The poor mother gazed incredulously on him, on the nurse, "'and lastly on the sleeping child. Then, without a word, she fell back, and fainted in Elspie's arms. End of Chapter 2. Chapter 3 of Olive. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Olive, by Dinah Maria Crake, Chapter 3.

Starting point is 00:28:31 It was many days before Mrs. Rothsay recovered from the shock occasioned by the tidings, to her almost more fearful than her child's death, that it was doomed for life to suffer the curse of hopeless, deformity. For a curse, a bitter curse, this seemed to the young and beautiful creature, who had learned since her birth to consider beauty as the greatest good. She was, so to speak, in love with loveliness, not merely in herself but in every human creature. This feeling sprang more from enthusiasm than from personal vanity, the borders of which meanness she had just touched but never crossed. Perhaps also she was too conscious of her own loveliness, and admired herself too ardently to care for attracting the petty admiration of others. She took it quite

Starting point is 00:29:15 as a matter of course, and was no more surprised at being worshipped than if she had been the goddess of beauty herself. But if Sibylla Rothsay gloried in her own perfections, she no less gloried in those of all she loved, and chiefly in her noble-looking husband, and they were so young, so quickly wed and so soon parted, that this emotion had no time to deepen into that sole united affection which is independent of outward things, or rather becomes so divine that instead of beauty creating love, love has power to create beauty. No marvel then, that not having attained to a higher experience, Sibylla considered beauty as all in all. And this child, her child and Angus's, would be a deformity, a shame to its parents, a dishonor to its race. How should she ever

Starting point is 00:30:03 bear to look upon it? Still more, how should she ever dare to show the poor, cripple to its father and say, This is our child, our firstborn. Would he not turn away in disgust, and answer that it had better died? Such exaggerated fancies as these haunted the miserable mother, when she passed from her long swoon into a sort of fever, which, though scarce endangering her life, was yet for days a source of great anxiety to the devoted Elspie.

Starting point is 00:30:30 To the unhappy infant this madness, for it was temporary madness, almost caused death. Mrs. Rothsey positively refused to see or notice her child, scorning alike the tearful entreaties and the stern reproaches of the nurse. At last Elspie ceased to combat this passionate resolve, springing half from anger and half from delirium. God forgive ye? And save the innocent Baron? The doctor he gave, and that you're gone to murder?

Starting point is 00:30:57 Unthankful woman as you are, muttered Elsby under her breath, as she quitted the room and went to succor the almost dying babe. Over it her heart yearned as it had never yearned before. You're Mither Cassiaf, ye purre we thing. Maybe you're no lang for this world, But while you're in it ye shall be my ain't, lassie, And I'll be your ain't mammy ever mer. So, like Naomi of old,

Starting point is 00:31:19 Elsby Murray laid the child in her bosom And became nurse unto it. But for her the life of our olive Rothsay, With all its influences, good or evil, Small or great as yet unknown, Would have expired like a faint flickering taper. Perhaps in her madness the unhappy mother might almost have desired such an ending. As it was, the disappointed hope, which had at first resembled positive dislike, subsided

Starting point is 00:31:44 into the most complete indifference. She endured her child's presence, but she took no notice of it. She seemed to have forgotten its very existence. Her shattered health supplied sufficient excuse for the utter abandonment of all a mother's duties, and the poor, feeble spark of life was left to Elsby's cherishing. By night and by day the child knew no other resting place than the old nurse's arms, the mothers seeming to be forever closed to its helpless innocence. True, Sibilla kissed it once a day, when Elspie brought the little creature to her,

Starting point is 00:32:15 and exacted as a duty the recognition which Mrs. Rothsay, girlish and yielding as she was, dared not refuse. Her husband's faithful retainer had over her an influence which could never be gained said. Elspie seemed to be the sole regent of the babe's destiny. It was she who took it to its baptism, not the festal ceremony which had pleased Sibylla's childish fancy, with visions of christening robes and cakes, but the beautiful and simple naming of Elspie's own church. She stood before the minister, holding the desolate babe in her protecting arms, and there her heart sealed the promise of her lips to bring it up in the knowledge and fear of God.

Starting point is 00:32:53 And with an earnest credulity, which contained the germ of purest faith, she, remembering the mother's dream, called her nursling by the name of Olive. She carried the babe home, and laid it on Mrs. Rothsay's lap. The young creature who had so strangely renounced that dearest blessing of mother-love would fain have put the child aside, but Elspie's stern eye controlled her. Ye mon kiss and bless your doctor? Nay, Tong but her mither should ca her by her new christen name? What name?

Starting point is 00:33:22 The name ye geet her ye'en cell? No, no, surely you have not called her so. "'Take her away. She is not my sweet angel baby, the darling in my dream.' And Sibylla hid her face, not in anger or disgust, but in bitter weeping. "'She's your ain't doctor? Olive Rothsay?' answered Elsby, less harshly. "'She may be an angel to you yet?' While she spoke, it's so chanced that they're flitted over the infant face one of those smiles that we see sometimes in young children, strange, causeless smiles, which seem the

Starting point is 00:33:57 reflection of some invisible influence. And so, while the babe smiled, there came to its face such an angel brightness that it shone into the mother's careless heart. For the first time since that mournful day which had so changed her nature, Sibylla Rothsay sat down and kissed the child of her own accord. Ellsby heard no maternal blessing. The name of Olive was never breathed, but the nurse was satisfied when she saw that the babe's second baptism was its mother's repentant tears. There was in Sibylla, no hardness nor cruelty, only the disappointment and vexation of a child deprived of an expected toy. She might have grown weary of her little daughter almost as soon, even if her pride and hope had not been crushed by the knowledge of Olive's deformity.

Starting point is 00:34:43 Love to her seemed a treasure to be paid in requital, not a free gift bestowed without thought of return. That self-forgetting maternal devotion, lavished first on unconscious infancy, and then on unregarding youth, was a mystery. to her utterly incomprehensible. At least it seemed so now, when, with the years and the character of a child, she was called to the highest duty of a woman's life. This duty comes to some girlish mothers as an instinct, but it was not so with Mrs. Rothsay. An orphan, and heiress to a competence, if not to wealth, she had been brought up like a plant in a hotbed, with all natural impulses either warped or suppressed, or forced into undue luxuriance. And yet it was a sweet plant

Starting point is 00:35:26 withal, one that might have grown, aye, and might yet grow, into perfect strength and beauty. Mrs. Rothsay's education, that education of heart and mind and temper, which is essential to a woman's happiness, had to begin when it ought to have been completed, at her marriage. Most unfortunate it was for her that ere the first to twelvemonth of their wedded life had passed, Captain Rothsay was forced to depart for Jamaica, whence was derived his wife's little fortune, their whole fortune now, for he had quitted the army on his marriage. Thus, Sibylla was deprived of that wholesome influence which man has ever over a woman who loves him, and by which he may, if he so will, counteract many a fault and weakness in her disposition.

Starting point is 00:36:10 Time passed on, and Mrs. Rothsay, a wife and mother, was at twenty-one years old just the same as she had been at seventeen, as girlish, as thoughtless, eager for any amusement, and often treading on the very verge of folly. She still lived at Sterling, enforced thereunto by the entreaties, almost the commands of Elsby Murray, against whom she bitterly murmured sometimes, for shutting her up in such a dull, Scotch town. When Elsby urged her unprotected situation, the necessity of living in retirement, for the honour of the family, while Captain Angus was away, Mrs. Rothsay sometimes frowned, but more often put the matter off with a merry jest. Meanwhile she consoled herself by going as much into society as the limited circle of doctor and Mrs. Johnson allowed, and therein,

Starting point is 00:36:56 as usual, the lovely, gay, winning young creature was spoiled to her heart's content. So she still lived the life of a wayward, petted child, whose natural instinct for all things good and beautiful kept her from ever doing what was positively wrong, though she did a great deal that was foolish enough in its way. She was, as she jestingly said, a widow bewitched, but she rarely coquetted, and then only in that innocent way which comes natural to some women from a universal desire to please, and she never ceased talking and thinking of her noble Angus. When his letters came, she always made a point of kissing them half a dozen times, and putting them under her pillow at night, just like a child,

Starting point is 00:37:35 and she wrote to him regularly once a month, pretty playful, loving letters. But there was in them one peculiarity. They were utterly free from that delicious maternal egotism which chronicles all the little incident of babyhood. She said and answered her husband's questions that Olive was well, Olive could just walk, Olive had learned to say Papa and Elsby, nothing more. The fatal secret she had not dared to tell him. Her first letters, full of joy about the loveliest baby that ever was seen, had brought his in return echoing the rapture with truly paternal pride. They reached her in her misery, to which they added tenfold. Every sentence smote her with bitter

Starting point is 00:38:16 regret, even with shame, as though it were her fault in having given to the world the wretched child. Captain Rotsay expressed his joy that his little daughter was not only healthy but pretty, for he said he should be quite unhappy if she did not grow up as beautiful as her mother. The words pierced Sibilla's heart. She could not, dared not tell him the truth, not yet at least, and whenever Elspie's rough honesty urged her to do so, she fell into such agonies of grief and anger that the nurse was obliged. to desist. Sometimes, when letter after letter came from the father, full of inquiries about his precious firstborn, Sibylla, whose fault was more in weakness than deceit, resolved

Starting point is 00:38:58 that she would nerve herself for the terrible task, but it was vain. She had not strength to do it. The three years extended into four, and still Captain Rothesay sent gift after gift, and message after message to his daughter. Still he wrote to the conscience-stricken mother how many times he had kissed the little lock of golden hue, severed from the baby head, picturing the sweet face and live active form which he had never seen, and all the while there was stealing about the old house at Stirling, a pale, deformed child, small and attenuated in frame, quiet beyond its years, delicate, spiritless, with scarce one charm that would prove its lineage from the young beautiful mother, out of whose sight it instinctively crept.

Starting point is 00:39:40 Thus the years fled with Olive Rothsay and her parents, each month, each day, sewing seeds that would assuredly spring up, for good or for evil, in the destinies of all three. End of Chapter 3 Chapter 4 of Olive. This Librovoc's recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dinah Maria Crake, Chapter 4. The fourth year of Captain Rothsay's absence passed, not without anxiety for it was wartime, and his letters were frequently interrupted. At first, whenever this happened, his wife fretted extremely. Fretted is the right word, for it was more a fitful chafing than a

Starting point is 00:40:29 positive grief. Sabilla knew not the sense of deep sorrow. Her nature resembled one of those sunny climes where even the rains are dues. So, after a few disappointments, she composed herself to the certainty that nothing would happen amiss to her Angus, and she determined never to expect a letter until she received it, and not to look for him at all until he wrote her word that he was coming. He was sure to do what was right, and to return to his dearly loved wife as soon as ever he could. And, though scarce acknowledging the fact to herself, her husband's return involved such a humiliating explanation of truth concealed, if not of positive falsehood, that Sibylla dared not even think of it. Whenever the long-parted wife mused

Starting point is 00:41:12 on the joy of meeting, of looking once more into the beloved face, and being lifted up like a child to cling round his neck with her fairy arms, for Angus was a very giant to her, then there seemed to rise between them the phantom of the pale, deformed child. To drown these fancies, Sibylla rushed into every amusement which her secluded life afforded. At last she resolved on an exploit at which Elspie looked aghast, and which made the quiet Mrs. Johnson shake her head, an evening party, nay even a dance at her own home. It will never do for the people here. Their uncogood, said the doctor's English wife,

Starting point is 00:41:49 who had imbibed a few Scottish prejudices by a residence of thirty years. Nobody ever dances in Stirling. Then I'll teach them, cried the lively Mrs. Rothsay. I longed to show them a quadrille, even that new dance that all the world is shocked at. Oh, I should dearly like a waltz! Mrs. Jacob Johnson was scandalized at first. but there was something in sybilla to which she could not say nay nobody ever could the matter was decided by mrs rothsay's having her own way except with regard to the waltz which her friend staunchly resisted

Starting point is 00:42:21 Elseby, too, interfered as long as she could, but her heart was just now full of anxiety about her nursling, who seemed to grow more delicate every year. Day after day the faithful nurse might have been seen trudging across the country, carrying little Olive in her arms to strengthen the child with the healing springs of Bridge of Allen and invigorate her weak frame with the fresh mountain air, the heather breath of beautiful Ben Letty. Among these influences did Olive's childhood dawn, so that in afterlife they never faded from, her.

Starting point is 00:42:52 Elspie scarcely thought again about the gay party, until when she came in one evening, and was undressing the sleepy little girl in the dusk, a vision appeared at the nursery door. It quite startled the old Scotswoman at first. It looked so like a fairy apparition, all in white, with a green coronet. She hardly could believe that it was her young mistress. "'Eh, Mrs. Rothsey, you're not going to show yourself in sit a dress?' she cried, with horror the gleaming bare arms, the lovely neck, and the tiny white-sandled feet, which the short and airy robe exhibited in all their perfection.

Starting point is 00:43:27 Indeed, but I am, and tis quite a treat to wear a ball-dress, I that have been smothered up in all sorts of ugly costume for nearly five years, and see my jewels. Why, Elspie, this pearl set has only beheld the light once since I was married, so beautiful as it is, and Angus's gift too. "'Do not say that name?' cried Elspie, driven to a burst of not very respectful reproach. "'I marvel you d'ar speak of Captain Angus, and ye with your havers and your jigs, while your husband's far away, and your barrens sick. It's for n'n't good I tell ye, Mrs. Rothesey.'

Starting point is 00:44:04 Siby had looked a little subdued at the allusion to her husband, but the moment Elspie mentioned the little olive, her manner changed. "'You are always blaming me about the child, and I will not bear it. She is quite a little bit. quite well. Are you not, baby? The mother never would call her olive." A feeble, trembling voice answered from the little bed, "'Yes, please, Mama!' "'There, you hear, Elsby. Now don't torment me any more about her, but I must go downstairs.' She danced across the room in a graceful waltzing step, held out her hand towards the child, and touched one so tiny, cold and damp that she felt half inclined to take and warm it in her

Starting point is 00:44:42 own. But Elsby's hawk eyes were watching her. and she was ashamed. So she only said, "'Good-night, baby!' And danced back again, out through the open door. For hours, Elspie sat in the dark room beside the bed of the little child,

Starting point is 00:44:58 who lay murmuring, sometimes moaning in her sleep. She never did moan but in her sleep, poor innocent. The sound of music and dancing rose up from below, and then Mrs. Rothsay's singing. "'You'd better be hushin your queer wee bear in here, you heartless woman,' muttered Elspie, who grew daily more jealous over the forsaken child now the very darling of her old age she knew not that her love for olive and its open tokens shown by reproaches to olive's mother were sure to suppress any dawning tenderness that might be awakened in mrs rothsay's bosom It had not done so yet, for many a time during the dance and song did the touch of that little

Starting point is 00:45:36 cold hand haunt the young mother, rousing a feeling akin to remorse. But she threw it off again and again, and entered with the gaiety of her nature into all the evening's pleasure. Her enjoyment was at its height, when an old acquaintance just discovered, an English officer quartered at the castle, proposed a waltz. Before she had time to say yes or no, the music struck up one of those enchanting waltz measures, which to all true lovers of dancing are as irresistible as Maurice Conner's wonderful tune. Sibylla felt again the same Blythe young creature of sixteen, who had led the revels at her first

Starting point is 00:46:12 ball, dancing into the heart of one old colonel, six ensigns, a doctor, a lawyer, and of Angus Rothsay. There was no resisting the impulse. In a moment she was whirling away. In the midst of the dizzy round, the door opened, and like some evil spectre, in-stocked Elspie Murray. Never was there such an uncouth apparition seen in a ballroom. Her grey petticoat exhibited her bare feet. Her short upper gown, that graceful and picturesque attire of the Scottish peasantry, was thrown carelessly over her shoulders. Her much was put on awry, and from under its immense border her face appeared,

Starting point is 00:46:50 as white almost as the cap itself. She walked right into the center of the floor, laid her heavy hand on Sibylla's shoulder, and said, "'Mrs. Rothsey? Your husband's come?' The young wife stood one moment transfixed. She turned pale, afterwards crimson, and then, uttering a cry of joy sprang to the door, sprang into her husband's arms. Dazzled with a light the traveller resisted not, while Elsby half-led, half-dragged him, still clasping his wife, into a little room close by, when she shut the door and left them. Then she burst in once more among the astonished guests.

Starting point is 00:47:29 "'Y'm a gang your gate, ye heathens. Away we ye, for Captain Rothses come home!' Sibylla and her husband stood face to face in the little gloomy room, lighted only by a solitary candle. At first she clung about him so closely that he could not see her face, though he felt her tears falling and her little heart beating. against his own. He knew it was all for joy, but he was strangely bewildered by the scene which had flashed for a minute before his eyes, while standing at the door of the room. After a while he

Starting point is 00:48:00 drew his wife to the light, and held her out at arm's length to look at her. Then for the first time she remembered all, trembling, blushing scarlet over face and neck, she perceived her husband's eyes rest on her glittering dress. He regarded her fixedly, from head to foot. She felt his expression change from joy to uneasy wonder, from love to sternness, and then he wore a strange, cold look, such a one as she had never beheld in him before. So, the young lady I saw whirling madly in some man's arms, was you, Sibylla, was my wife? As Captain Rothsay spoke, Sibylla distinguished in his voice a new tone, echoing the strange coldness in his eyes. She sprang to his neck, weeping now for grief and alarm as she had before wept for joy.

Starting point is 00:48:49 She prayed him to forgive her, told him with a sincerity that none could doubt, how rejoiced she was at his coming and how dearly she loved him, now and ever. He kissed her at her passionate entreaty, said he had nothing to blame, suffered her caresses patiently, but the impression was given, the deed was done. While he lived, Captain Rothsay never forgot that night, nor did Sibylla, for then she had first seen that cold, stern look, and heard that altered tone. How many times was it to haunt her afterwards? End of Chapter 4 Chapter 5 of Olive.

Starting point is 00:49:32 This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dinah Maria Crake. Chapter 5 Next morning Captain Rothsay and his wife sat together by the fireside where she had so often sat alone. Sibylla seemed in high spirits, her love was ever exuberant in expression, and the moment her husband seemed serious she sprang on his knee and looked playfully in his face.

Starting point is 00:49:58 "'Just as much a child as ever I see,' said Angus Rothsay, with a rather wintry smile. And then, looking in his face by daylight, Sibylla had opportunity to see how changed he was. He had become a grave, middle-aged man. She could not understand it. He had never told her of any cares, and he was little more than thirty. She felt almost vexed at him for growing so old. nay, she even said so, and began to pull out a few grey hairs that defaced the beauty of his black curls. "'You shall lecture me presently, my dear,' said Captain Rothsay.

Starting point is 00:50:33 "'You forget that I had two welcomes to receive, and that I have not yet seen my little girl.' He had not indeed. His eager inquiries after Olive overnight had been answered by a pretty pout, and several trembling, anxious speeches about a wife being dearer than a child. "'Baby was asleep, and it was so very late. "'He might surely wait till morning. "'To which, though rather surprised, he assented, "'a few more caresses, a few more excuses, "'had still further delayed the terrible moment,

Starting point is 00:51:02 "'until at last the father's impatience "'would no longer be restrained. "'Come, Sibylla, let us go and see our little olive. "'Oh, Angus!' "'And the mother turned deadly white. "'Captain Rothsay seemed alarmed. "'Don't trifle with me, Sibilla. "'There is nothing the mouth.'

Starting point is 00:51:18 matter, the child is not ill. No, quite well. Then why cannot Elspie bring her? And he pulled the bell violently. The nurse appeared. My good Elspie, you have kept me waiting quite long enough. Do let me see my little girl. Elspie gave one glance at the mother, who stood mute and motionless, clinging to the chair for support. In that glance was less compassion than a sort of triumphant exultation. When she quitted the room, Sabilla flung herself at her husband's feet. "'Angus! Angus! Only say you forgive me before!' The door opened, and Elsby led in a little girl. By her stature she might have been two years old,

Starting point is 00:51:58 but her face was like that of a child of ten or twelve, so thoughtful, so grave. Her limbs were small and wasted, but exquisitely delicate. The same might be said of her features, which, though thin and wearing a look of premature age, together with that quiet, earnest, melancholy cast peculiar to deformity, were yet regular, almost pretty, Her head was well-shaped, and from it fell a quantity of amber-colored hair, pale-lint-white

Starting point is 00:52:24 locks, which, with the almost colorless transparency of her complexion, gave a spectral air to her whole appearance. She looked less like a child than a woman dwarfed into childhood, the sort of being renowned in elfin legends, as springing up on a lonely moor or appearing by a cradle-side, supernatural, yet fraught with a nameless beauty. She was dressed with the utmost care in white, with blue ribbons. and her lovely hair was arranged so as to hide as much as possible, the defect which, alas, was even then only too perceptible. It was not a humpback, nor yet a twisted spine.

Starting point is 00:53:00 It was an elevation of the shoulders, shortening the neck and giving the appearance of a perpetual stoop. There was nothing disgusting or painful in it, but still it was an imperfection, causing an instinctive compassion, an involuntary, poor little creature, what a pity. Such was the child, the last daughter of the ever-beautiful Rothsay line, which Elseby led to claim the paternal embrace. Olive looked up at her father with her wistful, pensive eyes, in which was no childish shyness, only wonder. He met them with a gaze of frenzied unbelief.

Starting point is 00:53:36 Then his fingers clutched his wife's arm with the grasp of an iron vice. Tell me, is that—that miserable creature, our daughter, Olive Rothsay? She answered, yes. He shook her off angrily, looked once more at the child, and then turned away, putting his hand before his eyes, as if to shut out the sight. Olive saw the gesture. Young as she was, it went deep to her child's soul. Elspie saw it, too, and without bestowing a second glance on her master or his wife,

Starting point is 00:54:07 she snatched up the child and hurried from the room. The father and mother were left alone. To meet that crisis most fatal to wedded happiness, the discovery of the first deceit. Captain Rothsay sat silent with averted face. Sibilla was weeping, not that repentant shower which reigns softness into a man's heart, but those fretful tears which chafe him beyond endurance. "'Sibilla, come to me!' The words were a fond husband's words.

Starting point is 00:54:35 The tone was that of a master who took on himself his prerogative. Never had Angus spoken so before, and the willful spirit of his wife rebelled. "'I cannot come. I dare not even look at you, you are so angry.' His only answer was the reiterated command. "'Sibilla? Come!' She crept from the far end of the room, where she was sobbing in a fear-stricken, childish way, and stood before him. For the first time she recognized her husband, whom she must obey. Now, with all the power of his roused nature, he was teaching her

Starting point is 00:55:09 the meaning of the word. "'Sibilla,' he said, looking sternly in her face, Tell me why all these years you have put upon me this cheat, this lie. Cheat! Lie! Oh, Angus, what cruel, wicked words! I am sorry I used them, then. I will choose a lighter term, deceit.

Starting point is 00:55:29 Why did you so deceive your husband? I did not mean it, sobbed the young wife. And this is very unkind of you, Angus, as if heaven had not punished me enough in giving me that miserable child. Silence! I am not speaking of the child, but of you, my wife in whom I trusted, who for five long years has willfully deceived me. Why did you so? Because I was afraid, ashamed.

Starting point is 00:55:57 But those feelings are past now, said Sibylla resolutely. If heaven made me mother it made you father to this unhappy child, you have no right to reproach me. God forbid. No, it is not the misfortune. It is the falsehood which stings me. and his grave mournful tone rose into one of bitter anger. He paced the room, tossed by a passion such as his wife had never before seen.

Starting point is 00:56:22 "'Sibilla!' he suddenly cried, pausing before her. "'You do not know what you have done. You little think what my love has been, nor against how much it has struggled these five years. I have been true to you, I to the depth of my heart, and you to me have been not wholly true.' Here he was answered by a burst of violent hysterical weeping. He longed to call for feminine assistance to this truly feminine abolition, which he did not understand, but his pride forbade. So he tried to soothe his wife a little with softer words, though even these seemed somewhat

Starting point is 00:56:58 foreign to his lips after so many long-parted years. I did not mean to pain you thus deeply, Sibylla. I do not say that you have ceased to love me. that Sibylla had done as her first impulse taught her, have clung about him, crying, never, never, murmuring penitent words as a tender wife may well do, and in such humility be the more exalted. But she had still the wayward spirit of a petted child, fencinging she saw her husband once more at her feet, she determined to keep him there. She wept on, refusing to be pacified. At last Angus rose from her side, dignified and cold, his new, not his old, but

Starting point is 00:57:38 his old self, the lover no more, but the quiet, half-indifferent husband. I see we had better not talk of these things until you are more composed. Perhaps, indeed, not at all. What is past is past, and cannot be recalled. Angus! She looked up, frightened at his manner. She determined to conciliate him a little. What do you want me to do? To say I am sorry? That I will, but—with an air of coquettish command, "'You must say so, too.' The jest was ill-timed. He was in too bitter a mood.

Starting point is 00:58:12 "'Excuse me, you exact too much, Mrs. Rothsay.' "'Mrs. Rothsay? Oh, call me Sabilla, or my heart will break!' cried the young creature, throwing herself into his arms. He did not repulse her. He even looked down upon her with a melting, half-reproachful tenderness. "'How happy we might have been! How different had been this coming home if you had only trusted me,

Starting point is 00:58:35 and told me all from the beginning. Have you told me? Is there nothing you have kept back for me these five years?' He started a little, and then said resolutely, "'Nothing, Sibylla, I declare to heaven, nothing, save perhaps some trifles that I would at any time tell you, now, if you will. Oh, no, some other time.

Starting point is 00:58:56 I am too much exhausted now, murmured Sibilla, with an air of languor, half-reelangue, half-feigned, lest perchance she should lose what she had gained. In the sweetness of this reconciled lover's quarrel, she had almost forgotten its hapless cause. But Angus, after a pause of deep and evidently conflicting thoughts, referred to the child. She is ours still. I must not forget that. Shall I send for her again, he said, as if he wished to soothe the mother's wounded feelings. Alas, in Sibylla's breast the fountain of mother's feeling was as yet all sealed. Send for olive, she said. Oh, no!

Starting point is 00:59:35 Do not, I implore you, the very sight of her is a pain to me. Let us two be happy together, and let the child be left to Elsby.' Thus she said, thinking not only to save herself, but him from what must be a constant pang, little she knew him, or guessed the after-effect of her words. Angus Rothsay looked at his wife, first with amazement, then with cold displeasure. "'My dear, you scarcely speak like a mother. You forget likewise that you are speaking to a father.' A father, who, whatever affection may be wanting, will never forsake his duty. Come, let us go and see our child." "'I cannot!

Starting point is 01:00:14 I cannot!' And Stabilla hung back, weeping anew. Angus Rothsay looked at his wife, the pretty wayward idol of his bridegroom memory, looked at her with the eyes of a world-tried, world-hardened man. She regarded him, too, and noted the change which years had brought in her boyish lover of yore. I wore a fretful reproach, his brow, a proud sorrow. He walked up to her and clasped her hand. Sibylla, take care. All these years I have been dreaming of the wife and mother I should find

Starting point is 01:00:45 here at home. Let not the dream prove sweeter than the reality. Sibylla was annoyed. She, the spoilt darling of everyone, who knew not the meaning of a harsh word, she answered, Don't let us talk so foolishly. You think it foolish? Well then, we will not speak in this confidential way any more. I promise, and you know I always keep my promises." "'I am glad of it,' answered Sibylla, but she lived to rue the day when her husband made this one promise. At present she only felt that the bitter secret was disclosed, and Angus's anger overpassed.

Starting point is 01:01:20 She gladly let him quit the room, only pausing to ask him to kiss her, in token that all was right between them. He did so, kindly, though with a certain pride and gravity, and departed. She dared not ask him whether it was to see him. see again their hapless child. What passed between the father and mother whilst they remained shut up together there? Ellsby thought not, cared not. She spent the time in passionate caresses of her darling, in half-muttered ejaculations, some of pity, some of wrath. All she desired was to obliterate the impression which she saw had gone deeply to the child's heart. Olive wept not.

Starting point is 01:01:58 She rarely did. It seemed as though in her little spirit was a pensive repose, above either infant sorrow or infant fear. She sat on her nurse's knee, scarcely speaking, but continually falling into those reveries which we see in quiet children even at that early age, and never without a mysterious wonder approaching to awe. Of what can these infant musings be? Nurse, said the child, suddenly fixing on Elspie's face her large eyes, "'Was that my papa I saw?' "'It was just himself, my sweet wee pet,' cried Elspie, trying to stop her with kisses. but Olive went on.

Starting point is 01:02:35 "'He is not like Mama. He is great and tall like you. But he did not take up and kiss me as you said he would.' Elspie had no answer for these words, spoken in a tone of quiet pain, so unlike a child. It is only after many years that we learn to suffer and be silent. Was it that nature, ever merciful,

Starting point is 01:02:56 had implanted in this poor girl as an instinct, that meek endurance which usually comes as the painful experience of afterlife? A similar thought passed through Elsby's mind, while she sat with little olive at the window, where a few years ago she had stood rocking the newborn babe in her arms, and pondering drearily on its future. That future seemed still as dark in all outward circumstances, but there was one ray of hope, which centered in the little one herself.

Starting point is 01:03:24 There was something in olive which passed Elsby's comprehensions. At times she looked almost with an uneasy awe on the gentle silent child who rarely played, who wanted no amusing, but would sit for hours watching the sky from the window, or the grass and waving trees in the fields, who never was her to laugh, but now and then smiled in her own peculiar way, a smile almost uncanny, as Elsby expressed it, at times the old Scotswoman, who, coming from the debatable ground between highlands and lowlands, had united to the rigid piety of the latter much wild gaelic superstition, was half inclined to believe that the little girl was possessed by some spirit.

Starting point is 01:04:03 But she was certain it was a good spirit, such a darling as Olive was, so patient and gentle and good, more like an angel than a child. If her misguided parents did but know this, yet Elsby in her secret heart was almost glad they did not, her passionate and selfish love could not have borne that any tie on earth, not even that of father or mother, should stand between her and the child of her adoption. While she pondered there came a light knock to the door, and Captain Rothsay's voice was heard without. His own voice soothed down to its soft gentleman-like tone. It was a rare emotion indeed could deprive it of that peculiarity. Nurse, I wished to see Miss Olive Rothsay. It was the

Starting point is 01:04:47 first time that formal appellation had ever been given to the little girl. Still it was a recognition, else be heard it with joy. She answered the summons, and Captain Rothsay walked in. We have never described Olive's father. There could not be a better opportunity than now. his tall active form now subsiding into the muscular fulness of middle age was that of a hercules of the mountains the face combined scottish beauties and scottish defects which perhaps ceased to be defects when they become national peculiarities There was the eagle eye, the large but well-chiseled features, especially the mouth, and also there was the high cheekbone, the rugged squareness of the chin, which, while taking away beauty, gave character. When he came nearer, one could easily see that the features of the father were strangely reflected in those of the child, altered the likeness was,

Starting point is 01:05:38 from strength into feebleness, from manly beauty into almost puny delicacy, but it did exist, and faint as it was, Elsby perceived it. Olive was looking up at the clouds, her thin cheek resting against the embrasure of the window, gazing so intently that she never seemed to hear her father's voice or step. Elsby motioned him to walk softly, and they came behind the child. "'Do you know see, Captain Angus?' she whispered. "'Tis your own bonny face? I and your midthers. You mind her yet?' Captain Rothsay did not answer, but looked earnestly at his little daughter.

Starting point is 01:06:15 She, turning round, met his eyes. There was something in their expression which touched her, for a rosy color suffused her face. She smiled, stretched out her little hands and said, Papa! How Elsby then prided herself for the continual tutoring which had made the image of the absent father an image of love? Captain Rothsay started from his reverie at the sound of the child's voice. The tone, and especially the word, broke the spell. He felt once more that he was the father, not of the blooms.

Starting point is 01:06:45 little angel that he had pictured but of this poor deformed girl however he was a man in whom a stern sense of right stood in the place of many softer virtues he had resolved on his duty he had come to fulfil it and fulfil it he would So he took the two little cold hands and said, "'Papa is glad to see you, my dear.' There was a silence, during which Elsby placed a chair for Captain Rothsay, and Olive, sliding quietly down from hers, came and stood beside him. He did not offer to take the two baby hands again, but did not repulse them when the little girl laid them on his knee, looking inquiringly, first at him and then at Elsby.

Starting point is 01:07:24 "'What does she mean?' said Captain Rothsay. "'Poor bairn! I told her when her father was come home, he would tuck her in his arms and kiss her?" Rathsay looked angrily round, but recollected himself. "'Your nurse was right, my dear. Then pausing for a moment, as though arming himself for a duty, repugnant indeed but necessary, he took his daughter on his knee and kissed her cheek, once and no more. But she, remembering Elsby's instructions, and prompted by her loving nature, clung about

Starting point is 01:07:55 him and requited the kiss with many another. They melted him visibly. There is nothing sweeter in this world than a child's unasked voluntary kiss. He began to talk to her, uneasily and awkwardly, but still he did it. There, that will do, little one. What is your name, my dear, he said absently? She answered, "'Aleve Roth say.' "'Aye, I had forgotten. The name, at least, she told me true. The next moment he set down the child, softly, but as though it were relieved. Is Papa going?" said Olive, with a troubled look. "'Yes, but he will come back tomorrow. Once a day will do,' he added to himself.

Starting point is 01:08:34 Yet when his little daughter lifted her mouth for another kiss he could not help giving it. "'Be a good child, my dear, and say your prayers every night and love Nurse Elspie.' "'And Papa, too, may I?' He seemed to struggle violently against some inward feeling, and then answered with a strong effort. Yes. The door closed after him abruptly. Very soon Elspie saw him walking with hasty strides along the beautiful walk that winds round the foot of the castle rock. The nurse sat still for a long time thinking, and then ended her ponderings with her favorite phrase, God guide us, it's a come richteth last. Poor, honest, humble soul.

Starting point is 01:09:17 End of Chapter 5. Chapter 6 of Olive. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dina Maria Crake. Chapter 6 The return of the husband and father produced a considerable change in the little family at Stirling. A household, long composed entirely of women, always feels to its very foundations the incursion of one of the nobler sex.

Starting point is 01:09:52 From the first morning, when there resounded the multiplied ringing of bells and the creaking of boots on the staircase, the glory of the feminine dynasty was departed. Its easy laissez-ale, its lax rule, and its indifference to regular forms were at an end. Mrs. Rothsay could no longer indulge her laziness, no breakfasting in bed and coming down in curl-papers. The long gossiping visits of her thousand and one acquaintances subsided into frigid morning calls, at which the grim phantom of the husband frowned from a corner and suppressed all idle chatter. Sibylla's favorite system of killing time by half-hours in various idle ways, at home and abroad, was terminated at once. She had now to learn how to be a dutious wife,

Starting point is 01:10:36 always ready at the beckoned call of her husband, and attentive to his innumerable wants. She was quite horrified by these at first. The captain actually expected to dine well and punctually, every day, without being troubled beforehand with what would he like for dinner. He listened once or twice, patiently too, to her histories of various small domestic grievances, and then requested politely that she would confine such details to the kitchen in future, at which poor Mrs. Rothsay retired in tears. He liked her to stay at home in the evening, make his tea, and then read to him, or listen while he read to her.

Starting point is 01:11:13 This was the more arduous task of the two, for dearly as she loved to hear the sound of his voice. Sibylla could never feel interested in the prosy books he read, and often fell half asleep. Then he always stopped suddenly, sometimes looked cross, sometimes sad, and in a few minutes he invariably lighted her candle, with the gentle hint that it was time to retire. But often she woke hours after, and heard him still walking up and down below, or stirring the fire perpetually, as a man does who is obliged to make the fire his sole companion. And then Sibylla's foolish but yet loving heart would feel

Starting point is 01:11:49 itself growing sad and heavy. Her husband's image, once painted there in such glittering colors, began to fade. The real Angus was not the Angus of her fancy. Joyful as was his coming home, it had not been quite what she expected. Else, why was it that at times, amidst all her gladness, she thought of their olden past with regret and of their future with doubt, almost fear? But it was something new for Sibylla to think at all. It did her good in spite of herself. While these restless elements of future pain were smoldering in the parents, the little neglected, unsightly blossom, which had sprung up at their feet, lived the same unregarded, monotonous life as heretofore. Olive Rothsay had attained to five years, growing much like a primrose

Starting point is 01:12:37 in the field, how, none knew or cared, save heaven, and that heaven did both know and care, was evident from the daily sweetness that was stealing into this poor wayside flower, so that it would surely one day be discovered through the invisible perfume which it shed. Captain Rothsay kept to his firm resolve of seeing his little daughter in her nursery once a day at least. After a while, the visit of a few minutes lengthened to an hour. He listened with interest to Elsby's delighted eulogiums on her beloved charge, which sometimes went so far as to point out the beauty of the child's one face, with the assurance that Olive, in features at least, was a true Rothsay.

Starting point is 01:13:16 But the father always stopped her with a dignified, cold look. we will quit that subject if you please nevertheless guided by his rigid sense of a parent's duty he showed all kindness to the child and his omnipotent way over his wife exacted the same consideration from the hitherto indifferent sabilla it might be also that in her wayward nature the chill which had unconsciously fallen on the heart of the wife caused the mother's heart to awaken and then the mother would be almost startled to see the response which this knew though scarcely defined tenderness created in her child. For some months after Captain Rothsay's return, the little family lived in the retired, old-fashioned dwelling on the Hill of Sterling. Their quiet round of uniformity was only broken by the occasional brief absence of the head of the household, as he said on business. Business was a word conveying such distaste, if not horror, to Sibylla's ears, that she asked no questions, and her husband volunteered no information. In fact, he rarely was in the habit of doing so,

Starting point is 01:14:18 whether interrogated or not. At last, one day when he was sitting after dinner with his wife and child, he always punctiliously commanded that Miss Rothsay might be brought in with the dessert. Angus made the startling remark. My dear Sibylla, I wish to consult with you on a subject of some importance. She looked up with a pretty childish surprise. Consult with me! Oh, Angus, pray don't tease me with any of your hard business matters.

Starting point is 01:14:46 I never could understand them. And I never for a moment imagined you could. In fact you told me so, and therefore I have never troubled you with them, my dear, was the reply, with just the slightest shade of satire. But its bitterness passed away the moment Sibylla jumped up and came to sit down on the hearth at his feet, in an attitude of comical attention. Thereupon he patted her on the head, gently and smilingly, for he was a fond husband still, and she was such a sweet plaything for an idle hour.

Starting point is 01:15:16 A plaything? would that all women considered the full meaning of the term, a thing sighed for, snatched, caressed, wearied of, neglected, scorned, and would also that every wife knew that her fate depends less on what her husband makes of her than what she makes herself to him. Now Angus begin, I am all attention. He looked one moment doubtfully at Olive, who sat in her little chair at the farther end of the room, quiet, silent and demure. She had beside her some purple plight. which she did not attempt to eat, but was playing with them, arranging them with green leaves

Starting point is 01:15:53 in a thousand graceful ways, and smiling to herself when the afternoon sunlight, creeping through the dim window, rested upon them and made their rich color richer still. "'Shall we send olive away?' said the mother. "'No, let her stay. She is of no importance.' The parents both looked at the child's pale spiritual face, felt the reproach it gave, and sighed. both father and mother would have loved her, but for a sense of shame in the latter, and the painful memory of deceit in the former.

Starting point is 01:16:24 Sibylla, suddenly resumed Captain Rothsay. What I have to say is merely how soon you can arrange to leave Stirling.' "'Leave Stirling?' "'Yes, I have taken a house.' "'Indeed, and you never told me anything about it,' said Sibylla with a vexed look. "'Now my little wife do not be foolish. You never wish to hear about business, and I have taken you at your word. You cannot object to that.' But she could, and she had a thousand half-pouting, half-gesting complaints to urge. She put them forth rather incoherently. In fact, she talked for five

Starting point is 01:16:57 minutes without giving her husband opportunity for a single word. Yet she loved him dearly, and had in her heart no objection to being saved the trouble of thinking beforehand, only she thought it right to stand up a little for her conjugal prerogative. He listened in perfect silence. When she had done, he merely said, "'Very well, Sibylla, and we will leave Sterling this day, month. I have decided to live in England. Old Church is a very convenient town, and I have no doubt you will find Maravale Hall in agreeable residence.' "'Maraville Hall! Are we really going to live in a hall?' cried Sibylla, clapping her hands with childish glee. But immediately her face changed.

Starting point is 01:17:36 "'You must be jesting with me, Angus. I don't know much about money, but I know we are not rich enough to keep up a hall. We were not, but we are now, I am happy to say, answered Captain Roth, say, with some triumph. Rich! Very rich! And you never told me?' Sibylla's hands fell on her knee, and it was doubtful which expression was dominant in

Starting point is 01:17:58 her countenance, womanly pain or womanly indignation. Angus looked annoyed. "'My dear Sibylla, listen to me quietly. Yes, quietly,' he added, seeing how her color came and went, and her lips seemed ready to burst out into petulant reproach. When I left England I was taunted with having run away with an heiress. That I did not do, since you were far poorer than the world thought, and I loved little Sibylla Hyde for herself and not for her fortune. But the taunt stung me, and when I left you, I resolved never to return until I could return a rich man on my own account. I am such now.

Starting point is 01:18:33 Are you not glad, Sibylla?' "'Glad? Glad! Glad to have been kept in the dark like a baby! A fool! It was not proper treatment towards your wife, Angus, was the petulant answer, as Sibylla drew herself from his arm, which came as a mute peacemaker to encircle her waist. Now you are a child, indeed. I did it from love, believe me or not, it was so, that you might not be pained with the knowledge of my struggles, toils, and cares, and was not the reward, the wealth all for you? No, it wasn't. Pray, hear reason, Sibilla, her husband continued, in those quiet, unconcerned tones, which to a woman of quick feelings and equally quick resentments, were sure to add fuel to the fire.

Starting point is 01:19:16 "'I will not hear reason, when you have these four years been rolling in wealth and your wife and child were—oh, Angus!' and she began to weep. Captain Rothsay tried at first, by explanations and by soothings, to stop the small torrent of fretful tears and half-broken accusations. All his words were misconstrued or misapplied. Sibilla would not believe but that he had slighted, ill-used, deceived. her. At the term the husband rose up sternly. Mrs. Roth say, who was it that deceived me? He pointed to the child, and the glance of both rested on Little Olive. She sat, her graceful playthings fallen from her hands, her large soft eyes dilated with such a terrified wonder that both

Starting point is 01:20:01 father and mother shrank before them. That fixed gaze of the unconscious child seemed like the reproachful look of some angel of innocence sent from a purer world. There was a dead silence. In the midst of it the little one crept from her corner and stood between her parents, her little hands stretched out and her eyes full of tears. "'Aolive has done nothing wrong. Papa and Mama, you are not angry with poor little Olive!' For the first time, as she looked into the poor child's face, there flashed across the mother's memory the likeness of the angel in her dreams. She pressed the thought back, almost angrily, but it came again.

Starting point is 01:20:39 Then Sibylla stooped down, and for the only time since her babyhood, Olive found herself lifted to her mother's embrace. The child had better go away to bed, said Captain Rothsay. Olive was carried out nestling closely in her mother's arms. When Sibilla came back, the angry pout had passed away, though a grave troubled shadow still remained. She made tea for her husband, tried to talk on common topics once or twice, but he gave little encouragement.

Starting point is 01:21:06 Before retiring to rest, she said to him timidly, "'There is no quarrel between us, Angus?' "'Not in the least, my dear,' he answered, with that composed deprecation of any offence, given or received which is the most painful check to an impulsive nature. Only we will not discuss matters of business together again. Women never can talk things over quietly. Good night, Sabilla.'

Starting point is 01:21:30 He lifted his head a little, a very little for her accustomed kiss. She gave it, but with it there came a sigh. He scarcely noticed either one or the other, being apparently deep in a large folio, commentary on the Proverbs, for it was Sunday evening. He lingered for a whole hour over the last chapter, and chiefly the passages. Who can find a virtuous woman, for her price is far above rubies? The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil. She openeth her mouth with wisdom, and in her tongue is the law.

Starting point is 01:22:04 of kindness. At this Captain Rothsay closed the book, laid his arms upon it, and sighed, oh, how heavily! He did not go to bed that night until his young wife had lain awake for hours, regretting and resolving. Nor until, after many determinations of future penitence and love, she had at last wept herself to sleep for very sorrow. End of Chapter 6. Chapter 7 of Olive. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dinah Maria Crake Chapter 7 Looking back on a calm and uneventful childhood, and by childhood we mean the seven years between the babyhood of five and the dignity of teens, it always seems like a cloudy landscape, with a few points of view here and there which stand out clearly

Starting point is 01:22:59 from the rest. Therein the fields are larger and the sky brighter than any we now behold. Persons, places, and events assume a mystery and importance. we never think of them or hear them named afterwards but there clings to them something of the strange glamour of the time when we saw men as trees walking olive's childhood was passed in the place mentioned by her father maryvale old church in her future life the words whenever heard always sounded like an echo of that dreamy time whose sole epochs are birthdays christmas days the first snowdrop found in the garden the first daisy in the field Such formed the only chronicle of Olive's childhood. Its earliest period was marked by events which she was too young to notice, troubles which she was too young to feel. They passed over her like storm clouds over a safely sheltered flower,

Starting point is 01:23:55 only perceived by the momentary shadow which they cast. Once, it was in the first summer at Merivale, the child noticed how pleased everyone seemed, and how papa and mama, now always together, used to speak more tenderly than usual to her. Elspy said it was because they were so happy, and that Olive ought to be happy too, because God would soon send her a wee, we, wee brother.

Starting point is 01:24:18 She would find him some day in the pretty cradle, which Elsby showed her. So the little girl went to look there every morning, but in vain. At last her nurse said she need not look there anymore, for God had taken away the baby brother as soon as it came. Olive was very much disappointed, and when she went down to her father that day, she told him of her trouble, but he angrily sent her away to her nurse. She looked ever after with

Starting point is 01:24:42 grief and childish awe on the empty cradle. At last it was empty no longer. She, a thoughtful child of seven, could never forget the impression made when one morning she was roused by the loud peeling of the old church bells, and the maids told her laughing that it was in honor of her little brother, come at last. She was allowed to kiss him once, and then spent half her time watching, with great joy and wonderment, the tiny face, and touching the tiny hands. After some days she missed him, and after some more Elseby showed her a little heap in the nearest churchyard, saying, that was her baby brother's cradle now. Poor little Olive! Her only knowledge of the tie of brotherhood was these few days of silent

Starting point is 01:25:26 watching and the little green mound left behind in the churchyard. From that time there came a gradual change over the household and over Olive's life. more long, quiet hours after dinner, her father reading, her mother occupied in some light work, or resting on the sofa in delicious idleness, while Olive herself, little noticed, but yet treated with uniform kindness by both, sat on the hearthrug, fondling the sleepy cat, or gazing with vague childish reverie into the fire. No more of the proud pleasure with which, on Sunday afternoons, exalted to her grave papa's knee, she created an intense delight out of what was to him a somewhat formal duty, and said her letters from the large family

Starting point is 01:26:09 Bible. These childish joys vanished gradually, she scarce knew how. Her papa she now rarely saw he was so much from home, and the quiet house, wherein she loved to ramble, became a house always full of visitors, her beautiful mamma being the center of its gaiety. Olive retreated to her nursery and to Elsby, and the rest of her childhood was one long, solitary, pensive dream. In that dream was the clear transcript of all the scenes amidst which it passed. The old hall, seated on a rising ground, and commanding views which were really beautiful in

Starting point is 01:26:45 their way, considering that Merivale was on the verge of a manufacturing district, bounded by pastoral and Moreland country. Those strange furnace fires, which rose up at dusk from the earth and gleamed all around the horizon, like red fiery eyes open all night long, how mysteriously did they haunt the imaginative child. Then the town, Old Church, how in her afterlife it grew distinct from all other towns, like a place seen in a dream, so real and yet so unreal.

Starting point is 01:27:15 There was its castle hill, a little island within a large pool, which had once been a real fortress and moat. Old Elspie contemned a like tradition and reality, until Olive Red in her little history of England the name of the place, and how John of Gaunt had built a castle there. And then Elspie vowed,

Starting point is 01:27:32 it was unworthy to be named the same day with beautiful sterling. Continually did she impress on the child the glories of her birthplace so that Olive in afterlife, while remembering her childhood scenes as a pleasant land of earth, came to regard her native Scotland as a sort of dream paradise. The shadow of the mountains where she was born fell softly, solemnly over her whole life, influencing her pursuits, her character, perhaps even her destiny. Yet there was a curious fascination about Old Church, she never forgot it, the two great wide streets, High Street and Butcher Row, intersecting one another in the form of a cross, the two churches, the old church, gloomy and Norman with its ghostly graveyard, and the new church, shining white amidst a pleasant

Starting point is 01:28:18 garden cemetery, beneath one of whose flower beds her baby brother lay. The two shops, the only ones she ever visited, the confectioners where she stood to watch the yearly fair, and the booksellers, whether she dragged her nurse on any excuse that she might pour over its incalculable treasures. Above all, there was fixed in her memory the strange aspect the town wore on one day, a coronation day, the grandest gala of her childhood. One king had died and been buried. Olive saw the black-hung pulpit and heard the funeral sermon, awfully thundered forth at night. Another king had been proclaimed, and Olive had gloried in the sight of the bonfires and the roasted sheep.

Starting point is 01:28:58 Now the people talked of a coronation day. Simple child. She knew nothing of the world's events or the world's destinies, save that she rose early to the sound of caroling bells, was dressed in a new white frock and taken to see the town, the beautiful town, smiling with triumphal flower arches and winding processions. How she basked in the merry sunshine and heard the shouts, and the band playing God Save the King,

Starting point is 01:29:24 and felt very loyal, until her enthusiasm vented itself in tears. Such was one of the few links between Olive's early life and the world outside. Otherwise, she dwelt for those seven years of childhood, in a little Eden of her own, whose boundary was rarely crossed by the footsteps of either joy or pain. She was neither neglected nor ill-used, but she never knew that fullness of love on which one looks back in afterlife, saying deprecatingly, and yet sighing the while, ah, I was indeed a spoiled child. Her little heart was not positively checked in its overflowing, but it had a world of secret tenderness, which, being never claimed, expanded itself in all sorts of wild fancies. She loved every flower of the field and every bird in the air. She also, having a passionate fondness for study and reading, loved her pet authors and their characters with a curious individuality. Mrs. Holland stood in the place of some good aunt, and Sandford and Merton were regarded just like real brothers.

Starting point is 01:30:25 She had no one to speak to about poetry. She did not know there was such a thing in the world. Yet she was conscious of strange and delicious sensations, when in the early days of spring she had at length conquered Elsby's fears about wet feet and muddy fields, and had gone with her nurse to take the first meadow ramble. She could not help bounding to pluck every daisy she saw, and when the violets came and the primroses, she was out of her wits with joy. She had never even heard of Wordsworth, yet, as she listened to the first cuckoon,

Starting point is 01:30:55 note, she thought it no bird but truly a wandering voice. Of Shelley's glorious lyric owed she knew nothing, and yet she never heard the Skylark song without thinking it a spirit of the air, or one of the angels hymning at Heaven's Gate, and many a time she looked up in the clouds at early morning, half expecting to see that gate open, and wondering whereabouts it was in the beautiful sky. She had never heard of art, yet there was something in the gorgeous sunset that made her bosom thrill, and out of the cloud ranges she tried to form mountains, such as there were in Scotland, and palaces of crystal like those she read of in her fairy tales. No human being had ever told her of the mysterious links that reach from the finite to the infinite, out of which,

Starting point is 01:31:39 from the buried ashes of dead superstition, great souls can evoke those mighty spirits, faith and knowledge. Yet she went to sleep every night believing that she felt, nay could almost see, an angel standing at the foot of her little bed, watching her with holy eyes, guarding her with outspread wings. Oh, childhood, beautiful dream of unconscious poetry, of purity so pure that it knew neither the existence of sin nor of its own innocence, of happiness so complete that the thought, I am now happy, came not to drive away the wayward sprite which never is, but always is to come. blessed childhood, spent in peace and loneliness and dreams, hidden therein lay the germs of a whole life.

Starting point is 01:32:25 End of Chapter 7. Chapter 8 of Olive. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dinah Maria Crake. Chapter 8. Olive Rothsay was 12 years old, and she had never learnt the meaning of that word whose very sound seems a wail, sorrow, and that other word, and that other word which is the dirge of the whole earth, death, was still to her only a name. She knew there was such a thing. She read of it in her books. Its shadow had passed her by when she missed her little brother from the cradle, but still it had never stood by her side and said,

Starting point is 01:33:09 Lo, I am here. Her circle of love was so small that it seemed as though the dread specter could not enter. She saw it afar off. She thought upon it sometimes in her poetical dreams, which clad the imaginary shape of grief with a strange, beauty. It was sweet to be sad, sweet to weep. She even tried to make a few delicious sorrows for herself, and when a young girl, whose beautiful face she had watched in church, died, she felt pensive and mournful, and even took a pleasure in thinking that there was now one grave in the new

Starting point is 01:33:41 churchyard which she would almost claim to weep over. Such were the tendencies of this child's mind, ever toward the melancholy and the beautiful united. Quietly pensive as her disposition was, She had no young companions to rouse her into mirth. But there was a serenity even in her sadness, and no one could have looked in her face without feeling that her nature was formed to suit her apparent fate, and that if less fitted to enjoy, she was the more fitted for the solemnity of that destiny to endure. She had lived twelve years without knowing sorrow, and it was time that the first lesson, bitter, yet afterwards sweet, should be learned by the child.

Starting point is 01:34:21 The shaft came to her through Elspie's faithful bosom, where she had rested all her life, and did rest now, with the unconscious security of youth which believes all it loves to be immortal. That Elspie should grow old seemed a thing of doubtful future, that she should be ill or die was a thing that never crossed her imagination. And when it last, one year in the fall of the leaf, the hearty and vigorous old woman sickened, and for two or three days did not quit her room, still Olive, though grieving for the moment, never dreamed of any serious affliction. She tended her nurse lovingly and cheerfully, made herself quite a little woman for her sake, and really half enjoyed the stillness of the

Starting point is 01:35:01 sick-room. It was a gay time, the house was full of visitors, and Elspie and her charge, always much left to one another's society, were now alone in their nursery, night and day. No one thought the nurse was ailing, except with the natural infirmity of old age, and Elspie herself uttered no word of complaint. Once or twice, while Olive was doing her utmost to enliven the sick-chamber, she saw her nurse watch her with eager love, and then sink into a grave reverie, from which it took more than one embrace to rouse her. One night, or rather morning, Olive was roused by the sight of a white figure standing at her bedside. She would have been startled, but that Elsby, sleeping in the same room, had many a time come to look on her

Starting point is 01:35:46 darling, even in the middle of the night. She had apparently done so now. "'Go to your bed again, dear nurse,' anxiously cried Olive. You should not walk about. Nay, you are not worse. I, I, maybe, but do not fear, dearie, will bide till the morn,' said Elspie faintly, as she tried to move away, supporting herself by the bed. Soon she sank back dizzily. "'I cannot walk, my sweet lassie, will ye help your queer old nurse?' "'Aulive sprang up and guided her back to her bed. "'When she reached it, Elsby said, thoughtfully, "'It's strange, uncle's strange.

Starting point is 01:36:24 "'My strength is again? "'Never mind, Elspie, dear. "'You are weak with being ill, but you will get better soon. "'Oh, yes, very soon.' "'It's no that?' "'And Elspie took her child's hands and looked wistfully in her face. "'Olive, can ye were to tie in your poor old nurse? "'Gin I were to gang away?

Starting point is 01:36:44 "'Where?' "'Unto God?' said Elspie solemnly. "'Dearie, I wouldn't agree ye, but I am I sure this sickness is unto death?' It was strange that Olive did not begin to weep, as many a child would have done, but though a cold trembling crept through her frame at these words, she remained quite calm. For Elspie must be kept calm likewise, and how could she be so if her child were not? Olive remembered this, and showed no sign of grief or alarm. Besides, she could not, would not believe a thing so fearful as Elsby's death.

Starting point is 01:37:18 It was impossible. You must not think thus. You must think of nothing but getting well. Lie down and go to sleep, she said, in a tone of almost womanly firmness, which Elsby obeyed mechanically. Then she would have roused the household, but the nurse forbade. By her desire Olive again lay down. It had always been her custom to creep to Elspie's bed as soon as she awoke, but now she did so long before daylight in answer to a faint summons.

Starting point is 01:37:46 "'I won't ye, me, bairn? You'll come to your old nurse's arms? Maybe they'll know hold you long,' murmured Elsby. She clasped the child once, with an almost passionate tenderness, and then, turning away, dropped heavily asleep. But Olive did not sleep. She lay until broad daylight, counting hour by hour, and thinking thoughts deep and strange in a child of her years, thoughts of death and eternity. She did not believe Elspie's words, but if they should be true, if her nurse should die, if this should be the last time she would ever creep to her living bosom.

Starting point is 01:38:23 And then there came across the child's mind awful thoughts of death and of the grave. She struggled with them, but they clung with fearful tenacity to her fancy. All she had heard or read of mortality, of the coffin and the mold, came back. with a vivid horror. She thought, what if in a few weeks, a few days, the hand she held should be cold, lifeless, the form whose faint breathings she listened to, should breathe no more but be carried from her sight and shut up in a grave under a stone? And then where would be else be, the tender, the faithful, who seemed to live but in loving her? Olive had been told that when people died it was their bodies only that lay in the grave and their souls went up to

Starting point is 01:39:05 heaven to be with God, but all her childish reasoning could not dissever the two. It was a marvel that, loving Elspie as she did, such thoughts should come at all, that her mind was not utterly numbed with grief and terror, but Olive was a strange child. There were in her little spirit depths of which no one dreamed. Hour after hour she lay thinking in these thoughts, horrible, yet fraught with a strange fascination, starting with a shudder every time they were broken by the striking of the clock. below. How awful a clock sounds in the nighttime and to such a watcher, a mere child, too. Olive longed for morning, and yet when the dusk of daybreak came, the very curtains took ghastly

Starting point is 01:39:48 shapes, and her own white dress, hanging behind the door, looked like a shroud within which she shuddered, and yet all the while she could not help eagerly conjecturing what the visible form of death would be. Utterly unable to endure her own thoughts, she tried to rouse her nose her nurse, and then Elspie started up in bed, seized her with burning hands, and asked her who she was and what she had done with Little Olive. "'I am Little Olive! Indeed I am!' cried the terrified child.

Starting point is 01:40:18 "'Are ye sure?' "'A well then, dearie, did not greet,' murmured poor Elsby, striving vainly against the delirium that she felt fast coming on. "'My bairn, is it near morn? Oh, for a drink o milk or tea! Shall I go and call the maids? "'But that dark, dark passage, I dare not.' "'It's no matter.

Starting point is 01:40:39 "'Baiti till the daylight,' said Elspie, "'as she sank again into heavy sleep. "'But the child could not rest. "'Was it not cruel to let her poor nurse "'lie suffering burning thirst "'rather than encounter a few vague terrors? "'And if Elspie should have a long illness, "'should die, what then would the remorseful remembrance be?

Starting point is 01:41:00 "'Without another thought, "'the child crept out of bed "'and groped her way to the door. It is easy to laugh at children's fancies about ghosts and bogie, but Dante's terrors in the haunted wood were not greater or more real than poor little olives when she stood at the entrance of the long gallery, dimly peopled with the fantastic shadows of dawn. None but those who remembered the fearful imaginings of their childhood can comprehend the self-martyrdom, the heroic daring, which dwelt in that little trembling bosom, as olive groped across the

Starting point is 01:41:32 gloom. Halfway through, she touched the cold handle of a door and could scarce repress a scream. Her fears took no positive shape, but she felt surrounding her things before and things behind. No human courage could give her strength to resist such terrors. She paused, closed her eyes, and said the Lord's Prayer all through. But, deliver us from evil she repeated many times, feeling each time stronger and bolder. Then first there entered into her heart that that mighty faith which can remove mountains, that fervent boldness of prayer with the very utterance of which an answer comes. And who dare say that the angel of that child always beholding the face of the father in heaven did not stand beside her then, and teach her in faint shadowings

Starting point is 01:42:19 the mystery of a life to come? Olive's awe-struck fancy became a truth. She never crept to her nurse's bosom more. By noon that day, Elsby lay in the torpor which marks the last stage of rapid inflammation. She did not even notice the child, who crept in and out of the thronged room, speaking to no one, neither weeping nor trembling, but struck with a strange awe that made her countenance and mean almost unearthly in their quietness. "'Take her away to her parents,' whispered the physician. But her mother had left home the day before, and Captain Rothsay had been absent a week. There were only servants in the house. They looked at her often, said,

Starting point is 01:42:59 poor child, and left her to go where she would. Olive followed the physician downstairs. Will she die? He started at the touch of the soft hand. Soft but cold, always cold. He looked at the little creature, whose face wore such an unchildlike expression. He never thought to pat her head

Starting point is 01:43:19 or treat her like a girl of twelve years old, but said gravely as though he were speaking to a grown woman. I have done my best, but it is too late, in three hours or perhaps four all will be over. He quitted the room, and Olive heard the rattle of his carriage wheels. They died away down the gravel road, and all was silent, silent except the twitter of a few birds, heard through the stillness of a July evening. Olive stood at the window and mechanically looked out.

Starting point is 01:43:48 It was so beautiful, so calm. At the west the clouds were stretched out in pale folds of rose-color and gray. On the lawn slept the long shadows of the trees, for behind them was rising the round red moon, and yet within the house was death. She tried to realize the truth. She said to herself time after time, Elspie will die. But even yet she could not believe it. How could the little birds sing and the sunset shine when Elspie was dying?

Starting point is 01:44:18 At last the light faded, and then she believed it all. Night and death seemed to come upon the world together. suddenly she remembered the physician's words three hours four hours was that all and elsby had not spoken to her since the moment when she cried and was afraid to rise in the dark elsby was going away forever without one kiss one good-bye weeping passionately olive flew back to the chamber where several women stood round the bed there lay the poor aged form in a torpor which save for the purple face and the loud heavy breathing had all the unconsciousnesses of death. Was that Elsby? The child saw and her tears were frozen. The maids would have drawn her away. "'No, no,' Olive said in a frightened whisper. "'Let me look at her. Let me touch her hand.' It lay outside the bedclothes, helpless and rigid, the fingers dropping together as they always do in the hour of parting life. Olive touched them. They were cold, so cold. Then she knew what was

Starting point is 01:45:22 death. The maids carried her fainting from the room. Mrs. Rothsay had returned, and, frightened and grieved, now wept with all a woman's softness over the deathbed of the faithful old nurse. She took her little daughter to her own sitting-room, laid her on the sofa and watched by her very tenderly. Olive, exhausted and half-insensible, heard as in a dream her mother whispering to the maid, come and tell me when there is any change any change what change that from life to death from earth to heaven and would it take place at once could they tell the instant when else be soul departed to be beyond the sun such and so strange were the thoughts that floated through the mind of this child of twelve years old and from these precocious yearnings after the infinite olive's fancy turned to earthly childish things she pictured with curious minuteness how she would feel when she awoke next morning and found that Elspie was dead, how there would be a funeral, how strange the house would seem afterward,

Starting point is 01:46:27 even what would be done with the black bonnet and shawl which, two days since, Elsby had hung up against the nursery door never to put on again. And then a long, silent agony of weeping came. Her mother, thinking she slept, sat quietly by, but in any case Olive would never have thought of going to her for consolation. Young as she was, Olive knew that her sorrow must be born alone, for none could understand it. Until we feel that we are alone on earth, how rarely do we feel that we are not alone in heaven? For the second time this day the child thought of God, not merely as of him to whom she offered her daily prayers, and those repeated after the clergyman

Starting point is 01:47:07 in church on Sunday, but as one to whom, saying our father, she could ask for anything she desired. And she did so, lying on the sofa, not even turning to kneel down, using her own simple words. She prayed that God would comfort her when Elspie died, and teach her not to grieve, but to be a good, patient child, so that she might one day go to her dear nurse in heaven and never be parted from her any more. She heard the maid come in and whisper to her Mama. Then she knew that all was over, that Elspie was dead, but so deep was the peace which had fallen on her heart that the news gave no pang, caused no tears.

Starting point is 01:47:47 "'Aolive, dearest,' said Mrs. Rothsay, herself subdued into weeping. "'I know, Mama,' was the answer. "'Now I have no one to love me but you.' The feeling was strange, perhaps even wrong, but as Mrs. Rothsay clasped her child, it was not without a thrill of pleasure that Olive was all her own now. "'Where shall Miss Rothsay sleep to-night?' was the whispered question of the maid. Olive burst into tears.

Starting point is 01:48:15 She shall sleep with me. Darling, do not cry for your poor nurse. Will not Mama do instead? And looking up, Olive saw, as though she had never seen it before, the face which, now shining with maternal love, seemed beautiful as an angel's. It became to her like an angel's evermore. How often, in our human fate,

Starting point is 01:48:37 does the very hand that taketh give? End of Chapter 8. Chapter 9 of Olive. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dinah Maria Crake. Chapter 9 Mrs. Rothsay, touched by an impulse of regretful tenderness, showed all due respect to the memory of the faithful woman who had nursed with such devotion her husband and her child. For a whole long week Olive wandered about the shut-up house, the formal solemnity of death, now known for the first time, falling heavily on her young heart. Alas, that there was no one to lift it beyond the terrors of the grave to the sublime mysteries of immortality. But the child

Starting point is 01:49:29 knew none of these, and therefore she crept, awe-struck about the silent house, and when night fell, dared not even to pass near the chamber, once her own and elsebees, now deaths. She saw the other members of the household Entered there with solemn faces and pass out Carefully locking the door What must there be within? Something on which she dared not think And which nothing could induce her to behold

Starting point is 01:49:55 At times she forgot her sorrow And still keeping close to her mother's side Amused herself with her usual childish games Peasing disjointed maps or drawing on a slate But all was done with a quietness sadder than even tears The evening before the funeral, Mrs. Rothsay went to look for the last time on the remains of her faithful old servant. She tried to persuade Little Olive to go with her. The child accompanied her to the door, and then, weeping violently, fled back and hid herself in another chamber. From thence she heard her mother come

Starting point is 01:50:30 away, also weeping, for the feeble nature of Sibylla Rothsay had lost none of its tender-hearted softness. Olive listened to the footsteps gliding downstairs, and there was silence. Then the passionate affection which she had felt for her old nurse rose up, driving away all childish fear, and strengthening her into a resolution, which until then she had not dared to form. Tomorrow they would take away Elsby, forever. On earth she would never again see the face which had been so beloved. Could she let Elsby go without one look, only one?

Starting point is 01:51:05 She determined to enter the awful room now. and alone. It was about seven in the evening, still daylight, though in the darkened house dimmer than without. Olive drew the blind aside, took one long gaze into the cheerful sunset landscape to strengthen and calm her mind, and then walked with a firm step to the chamber door. It was not locked this time, but closed ajar. The child looked in a little way only. There stood the well-remembered furniture. The room seemed the same, only pervaded. with an atmosphere of silent, solemn repose. There would surely be no terror there. Olive stole in, hearing in the stillness every beating of her heart. She stood by the bed.

Starting point is 01:51:49 It was covered, not with its usual counterpane of patchwork stars, the work of Elsby's diligent hand through many a long year, and on which her own baby fingers had been first taught to sew, but with a large white sheet. She stood, scarce knowing whether to fly or not, until she heard a footstep on the stairs. One minute, and it would be too late. With a resolute hand she lifted the sheet, and saw the white fixed countenance, not of sleep, but death. Uttering a shriek so wild and piercing that it rang through the house, olives sprang to the door, fled through the passage, at the end of which she sank in convulsions. That night the child was taken ill, and never recovered until some weeks after, when the grass was already springing on poor Elspie's

Starting point is 01:52:36 grave. It is nature's blessed ordinance that in the mind of childhood the remembrance of fear or sorrow fades so fast. Therefore, when Oliver gained strength and saw the house now smiling within and without amidst the beauty of early autumn, the horrors of death passed from her mind or were softened into a tender memory. Perhaps in the end it was well for her that she had looked on that poor dead face to be certain that it was not Elspie. She never thought of Elspie in that awful child. She never thought of Elspie in that awful chamber any more. She thought of her as in life, standing knitting by the nursery window, walking slowly and sedately along the green lanes, carrying the basket of flowers and roots collected in their rambles, or sitting in calm Sunday afternoons with her Bible on her knee.

Starting point is 01:53:22 And then, passing from the memory of Elsby once on earth, Olive thought of Elsby now in heaven. Her glowing imagination idealized all sorrow into poesy. She never watched the sunset, She never looked up into the starry sky at night, without picturing Elsby as there. All the foibles and peculiarities of her poor old Scottish nurse became transmuted into the image of a guardian invisible, incorporeal, which seemed to draw her own spirit nearer to heaven, with the thought that there was one she loved, and who loved her, in the glorious mansions there.

Starting point is 01:53:58 From the time of her nurse's death, the whole current of Olive's life changed. It cast no shadow over the memory of the deep affection lost, to say that the full tide of living love now flowed towards Mrs. Rothsay, as it had never done before, perhaps never would have done but for Elspie's death, and truly the mother's heart now thirsted for that flood. For seven years, the little cloud which appeared when Captain Rothsay returned, had risen up between husband and wife, increasing slowly but surely, and casting a shadow over their married home. Like many another pair who wed in the heat of passion, or the willful caprice of youth, their characters, never very similar, had grown less so day by day, until their two lives had severed wider and wider. There was no open dissension that the wicked world could take hold of to glut its eager eyes with the spectacle of an unhappy marriage, but the chasm was there, a gulf of coldness,

Starting point is 01:54:55 indifference, and distrust which no foot of love would ever cross. Angus Rothsay was a disappointed man. At five and twenty he had taken a beautiful, playful, half-educated child, his bride and his darling to be, forgetting that at thirty-five he should need a sensible woman to be his trustworthy, sympathizing wife, the careful and thoughtful mistress of his household. When hard experience had made him old and wise, even a little before his time, he came home expecting to find her old and wise too. The hope failed. He found Sibylla as he had left her, a very child. Ductile and loving as she was, he might even then have guided her mind, have formed her character, in fact, have made her anything he liked. But he would

Starting point is 01:55:40 not do it. He was too proud. He brooded over his disappointed hope in silence and reserve, and though he reproached her not, and never ceased to love her in his own cold way, yet all respect and sympathy were gone. Her ways were not his ways, and was at the place of a man and a husband to bend? After a few years of struggling, less with her than with himself, he decided that he would take his own separate course and let her take hers. He did so. At first she tried to win him back, not with a woman's sweet and placid dignity of love, never failing, never tiring, yet invisible as a rivulet that runs through deep green bushes, scarcely heard and never seen. Sibylla's arts, the only arts she knew, were the whole armory of girlish co-coccurring.

Starting point is 01:56:28 or childish while, passionate tenderness and angry or sullen reproach, alternating each other. Her husband was equally unmoved by all. He seemed a very rock, indifferent to either sunshine or storm. And yet it was not so. He had in his nature deep, earnest, abiding tenderness, but he was one of those people who must be loved only in their own quiet, silent way. A hard lesson for one whose every feeling was less a principle than an impulse, Sibylla could not learn it, and thus the happiness of two lives was blighted, not from evil or even lack of worth in either, but because they did not understand one another. Their current of existence flowed on coldly and evenly, in two parallel lines which would

Starting point is 01:57:15 never, never meet. The world beheld Captain Rothsay in two phases, one as the grave, somewhat haughty but respected master of Marevale Hall, the other as the rash and daring speculator, who was continually doubling and troubling his fortune by all the thousand ways of legal gambling in which men of capital can indulge. There was in this kind of life an interest and excitement. Captain Rothsay rushed to it, as many another man would have rushed to far less sinless means of atoning for the dreary blank of home. In Mrs. Rothsay, the world only saw one of its fairest adornments, one of those charming

Starting point is 01:57:54 women who make society so agreeable. Beautiful, kind-hearted, at least as much so as her thoughtless life allowed, lively, fond of amusement, perhaps a little too much, for it caused people to note the contrast between the master and the mistress of the hall, and to say what no wife should ever give the world reason to say, poor thing, I wonder if she is happy with her husband. But between those two stood the yet scarce recognized tie which bound them together, the little deformed child. End of chapter 9. Chapter 10 of Olive.

Starting point is 01:58:36 This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dinah Maria Crake. Chapter 10. Captain Roth say, My dear. Reader, did you ever notice the intense frigidity that can be expressed in a, My Dear? The coldest, cruelest husband we ever knew

Starting point is 01:58:57 once impressed this fact on our childish fancy by our always hearing him call his wife thus. Poor, pale, broken-hearted creature. He mydeered her into her grave. Captain Rothsay also used the epithet with a formality which was chilling enough in its way. He said it without lifting his eyes from the book, Smith's wealth of nations,

Starting point is 01:59:17 which had become his usual evening study now whenever he was at home. That circumstance, rare enough to have been welcome, and yet it was not welcome, now subdued his wife and daughter into silence and quietness. alas, that ever a presence which ought to be the sunshine of a household should enter only to cast a perpetual shade. The firelight shone on the same trio which had formed the little after-dinner circle years ago at Sterling, but there was a change in all. The father and mother sat, not side by side in that propinquity which is so sweet, when every breath, every touch of the

Starting point is 01:59:54 beloved's garment gives pleasure. They sat one at each corner of the table, engrossed in their several occupations, reading with an uncommunicative eagerness, and sewing in unbroken silence. Each was entrenched within a chilling circle of thoughts and interests in which the other never entered, and now the only point of meeting between them was the once banished child. Little Olive was growing almost a woman now, but she was called Little Olive still. She retained her diminutive stature, together with her girlish dress, but her face wore as ever its look of premature age. And as she sat between her father and mother, now helping the one in her delicate fancy work, now arranging the lamp for the other's reading, continually in request by both,

Starting point is 02:00:40 or, when left quiet for a minute, watching both with anxious earnestness, there was quite enough in Olive's manner to show that she had entered on a woman's life of care and had not learned a woman's wisdom one day too soon. The captain's last, my dear, found his wife in the intricacies of a Berlin wool pattern, so that she did not speak again for several minutes, when she again appealed to Captain Rothsay. She rarely called him anything else now. Alas, the time of Angus and Sibylla was gone. Well, my dear, what have you to say? I wish you would not be always reading. It makes the evening so dull. Does it? And he turned over another leaf of Adam Smith, and leisurely settled himself for its perusal. "'Papa is tired and may like to be quiet.'

Starting point is 02:01:28 "'Suppose we talk to one another, Mama,' whispered Olive, as she put aside her own work, idle but graceful designings with pencil and paper, and, drawing near to her mother, began to converse in a low tone. She discussed all questions as to whether the rose should be red or white, and what colored wool would form the striped tulip, just as though they had been the most interesting topics in the world. Only once her eyes wandered wistfully to the deserted Sabrina, which, half-sketched, lay within the leaves of her comus. Mrs. Rothsay observed this, and said kindly, "'Let me look at what you are doing, love.

Starting point is 02:02:05 Ah, very pretty. What is Sabrina? Tell me all about her.' And she listened, with a pleased maternal smile, while her gratified little daughter dilated on the beloved comus, and read a passage or two in illustration. "'Very pretty, my love,' again repeated Mrs. Rothsay, stroking Olive's hair. "'Ah, you are a clever child. But now come and tell me what sort of winter dresses you think we should have.' If any observer could have seen a shade of disappointment on Olive's face, he would also have seen it instantly suppressed. The young girl closed Comus with the drawing inside and came to sit down again, looking up into the eyes of her beautiful mamma. And even the commonplace question of dress soon became interesting to her, for her artistic predilection followed her even there, and no lover ever gloried in his mistress's charms, no painter ever delighted to deck his model, more than Olive loved to adorn and to admire

Starting point is 02:03:00 the still exquisite beauty of her mother. It stood to her in the place of all attractions in herself. In fact, she rarely thought about herself at all. The consciousness of her personal defect had worn off through habit, and her almost total seclusion from strangers prevented its being painfully forced on her mind. "'I wish we could leave off this morning,' said Mrs. Rothsay. quite time, seeing Sir Andrew Rothsay has been dead six months, and living or dying, he did not show kindness enough to make one remember him longer. Yet he was kind to Papa when a child, and so was Antiflora, softly said Olive, to whose enthusiastic memory there ever clung Elspie's

Starting point is 02:03:42 tales about the Perthshire relatives, bachelor-brother and maiden sister, living together in their lonely, gloomy home. But she rarely talked about them, and now, seeing her Mama looked troubled, as she always did at any reference to Scotland and the old times, the little maiden ceased at once. Mrs. Rothze was soon again safely and contentedly plunged into the mysteries of winter costume. "'Your dresses must be handsomer and more womanly now, Olive, for I intend to take you out with me now and then. You are quite old enough, and I am tired of visiting alone. I intended to speak to your papa about it tonight, but he seems not in a good humor. Only tired with his journey, put in the sweet little audiator, is it not so, papa?

Starting point is 02:04:27 Captain Rothsay started from a dull, anxious reverie, into which his reading had merged, and lifted his face, knitted and darkened with some inward care, heavy enough to make his tone sharp and angry, as he said, Well, child, what do you want? Do not scold Olive, it was I who wished to speak to you. And then, without pausing to consider how evidently ill-timed the conversation was, Mrs. Rothsay began to talk eagerly about Olive's coming out, and whether it should be at home or abroad, finally arguing that a ball at Marivale would be best, and entering at large on the question of ball costume. There was nothing wrong in anything she said, but she said it at the wrong time.

Starting point is 02:05:07 Her husband listened first with indifference, then fidgeted restlessly in his chair, and at last subsided into an angry silence. Why don't you speak, Captain Rothsay? He took up the poker and hammered the fire to small cinders. Of course you will be reasonable. Say, shall it be as I have arranged? No. The word came thundering out, as Captain Rothsay rarely thundered,

Starting point is 02:05:32 for he was calm and dignified even in his wrath. Immediately afterwards he rose up and left the room. Sibylla grew pale, sorrowful, and then melted into tears. She tried not to let Olive see them. them. She was still too faithful a wife to seek in any way to turn the child against her father. But yet she wept, and drawing her young daughter closer to her arms, she felt the sweetness of having a child, and such a child, left to love her. In proportion as the wife's heart closed, the mother's opened. Air long, Captain Rothsay sent for Little Olive to read the evening newspaper

Starting point is 02:06:08 to him in his study. Go, love, said Mrs. Rothsay, and she went, without fear too, for her father never said a harsh word to her. And as, each year of her life, the sterling truth and stern uprightness of his character dawned upon her, she could not fail to respect him, even while she worshipped her sweet-tempered, gentle mother. Captain Rothsay made no remark, save upon the subject she was reading, and came in with olive to tea just as usual. But when he had finished, and was fast sinking back into that painful reverie which seemed to oppress him, his weak, ill-judging wife recommenced her attack. She talked gently when speaking of Olive, even affectionately, poor soul. She persuaded herself all the time that she was doing right,

Starting point is 02:06:55 and that he was a hard-hearted father not to listen to her. He did listen, apparently, and she took his silence for consent, for she ended with, well then, it is quite settled, the ball shall be at Merivale on the twentieth of next month. Angus turned round, his blue eyes glittering yet cold as steel. Mrs. Rothsay, if you will warm the truth out of me, you shall. By next month you may not have a roof over your head. He rose up and again quitted the room. Mrs. Rothsay trembled, grew terrified, but tried to reassure herself.

Starting point is 02:07:29 He only says this in anger, or else to frighten me, I will not believe it. Then conscience whispered that never in her whole life had she known Anger Rothesay to tell a falsehood, and she trembled more and more. Finally she passed into a violent fit of nervous weeping, a circumstance by no means rare. Her health was weakened by the exciting gaieties of her outward life and the inward sorrow which preyed upon her heart. This night, and not for the first time either, the little maiden of fifteen might have been seen, acting with the energy and self-possession of a woman, soothing her mother's hysterical sufferings, smoothing her pillow, and finally watching by her until she fell asleep.

Starting point is 02:08:11 Then Olive crept downstairs and knocked at her father's study door. He said, come in, in a dull, subdued tone. She entered, and saw him sitting, his head on his hand, jaded and exhausted, leaning over the last embers of the fire which had gone out without his noticing it. If there had been any anger in the child's heart, it must have vanished at once when she looked upon her father thus. "'Oh, is that you, Olive,' was all he said, beginning to turn over his papers as if to make a show of occupation. But he soon relapsed into that unknown thought which oppressed him so much. It was some minutes before he completely aroused himself, and saw the little elfin-like figure standing beside him,

Starting point is 02:08:54 silent and immovable with the taper in her hand. "'Shall I bring your candle, dear papa? It is eleven o'clock and more.' "'Where is your mother, Olive?' she has gone to bed and olive paused uncertain whether she should tell him that her mamma was ill again there was a silence during which do what he would captain rothsay could not keep his eyes from the earnest wistful entreating gaze of his little olive at last he lifted her on his knee and took her face between his two hands saying in a smothered tone you are not like your mother you are like mine i and seem more so as you grow to be a woman "'I wish I were a woman, that Papa might talk to me and tell me anything which he has on his mind,' whispered Olive, scarcely daring to breathe that which she had nerved herself to say, during many minutes of silent pondering at the study door.

Starting point is 02:09:48 Captain Rothsay relapsed hastily into his cold manner. "'Child, how do you know?' "'I know nothing, and want to know nothing that Papa does not wish to tell me,' answered Olive gently. The father turned round again and looked into his daughter's eyes. Perhaps he read there a spirit equal to and not unlike his own, a nature calm, resolute, clear-sighted, the strong will and decision of a man, united to the tenderness of a woman. From that hour father and daughter understood one another.

Starting point is 02:10:20 "'Allev, how old are you? I forget.' "'Fifteen, dear papa?' "'Ah, and you are a thoughtful girl. I can talk to you as to a woman—' "'Pah! I mean a sensible woman! Put out your candle. you can sit up a while longer. She obeyed, and sat with him for two whole hours in his study, while he explained to her how sudden reverses had so damaged his fortune that it was necessary to have a far smaller

Starting point is 02:10:46 establishment than Maravale Hall. Not that we need fear poverty, my dear child, but the future must be considered and provided for. Your mother's jointure should I die? Nay, do not look sad, we will not talk of that, and then, too, your own portion when you marry. olive blushed as any girl of fifteen will do when talked to on such a topic even in the most businesslike way i shall not marry papa said she expressing the thought which had come to her as it does to most young girls who love their parents very dearly too dearly to imagine a parting captain rothsay started as if suddenly recollecting himself then he regarded her earnestly mournfully and in the look was something which struck on olive's memory as though she had seen it before

Starting point is 02:11:32 "'I had forgotten,' muttered Captain Rothsay to himself. "'Of course she will never marry. "'Poor child! Poor child!' "'He kissed her very tenderly, then lighted his candle and went upstairs to bed, "'holding her hand all the way, until they parted at her room door when he kissed her a second time. "'As he did so she contrived to whisper, "'Mama is sure to wake. She always does when you come in. "'Kiss Mama, too.'

Starting point is 02:11:59 "'Aulive went to bed, happier than she could have believed possible, had anyone told her in the morning that ere night she would hear the ill news of having to leave beautiful Merivale. But it was so sweet to feel herself a comfort to both parents, they who, alas, would receive no comfort from each other. Only, just when she was falling asleep, the thought floated across Olive's mind, I wonder why Papa said that, of course, I should never marry. End of Chapter 10. Chapter 11 of Olive. This liberation. This liberation VARVox recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dinah Maria Crake. Chapter 11

Starting point is 02:12:44 Dear Mama, is not this a pretty house, even though it is in a town, so pretty one need hardly pine after Merivale. Thus said Olive when they had been established some time in their new abode, and sat together one winter evening, listening to the sweet bells of Old Church, one of the few English parishes where lingers the curfew's solemn sound. "'Pretty house if anyone came to see us in it, my dear, but nobody does. "'And then we miss the close carriage so much, "'to think that I have been obliged to refuse the Stanton's ball

Starting point is 02:13:17 "'and the dinner party at Everingham. "'How dull these long winter evenings will be, Olive!' "'Olive answered neither yes nor no, "'but tried quietly by her actions "'to disprove the fact she was but a child, "'scarcely would have been called a clever child, "'was neither talkative nor musical, "'and yet she had a thousand winning ways of killing time,

Starting point is 02:13:37 so sweetly that each minute died dolphin-like shedding glorious hues a very romantic simile this one that would never have crossed Olive's innocent brain she only knew that she loved her mother and therefore tried to amuse and make her happy so that she might not feel the change of circumstances a change so unimportant to Olive so vital to Mrs. Rothsay Olive this night was peculiarly successful in her little ruse of love her mother listened while she explained a whole sketchbook of designs, illustrative of half a dozen modern poets. Mrs. Rothsay even asked her to read some of the said poets aloud, and, though not of an imaginative temperament, was fain to shed a few womanly tears over Tennyson's Queen

Starting point is 02:14:22 of the May and the Miller's daughter. Finally, she was coaxed into sitting to her daughter for her portrait, which Olive thought would make a design exactly suited to the heroine of the latter poem, and chiefly at the verse, Look through mine eyes with thine. True wife, round my true heart thine arms entwine, My other dearer life in life, Look through my very soul with thine." And reading the verses over and over again, to bring the proper expression to her mother's face, the young girl marveled that they brought likewise a look so sad that she would fain have made some excuse and terminated the sitting. No, no, my dear, it amuses me, and I can talk with you the while. But Mrs. Rothsay did not talk much.

Starting point is 02:15:06 She was continually falling into a reverie. Once she broke it with the words, "'Olive, my child, I think, now we lead a quieter life, your papa will stay at home more. He seems to like this house, too. He never liked Merivale.' "'Dear old Maravale,' said Olive with a sigh, "'it seemed ages since she had left the familiar place.

Starting point is 02:15:28 "'Do not call it dear. "'It was a dreary home. "'I did not think so at first, but I did afterwards.' "'Why, Mama?' asked Olive. She was glad to lure her mother on to talk a little, if only to dispel the shadow which so ill became Mrs. Rothsay's still fair face. You were too young to know anything then, indeed you are now almost, but somehow I have learned to talk with you as if you were quite a little woman, Olive, my dear. Thank you, Mama, and what made you dislike sweet Merivale?

Starting point is 02:15:59 It was when your papa first began to take his long journeys, on business, you know. He was obliged to do it, I suppose, but nevertheless it was very dull for me. I never had such a dreary summer as that one. You could not remember it, though. You were only ten years old. Olive did remember it faintly nevertheless, a time when her father's face was sterner and her mother's more fretful than now, when the shadow of many domestic storms passed over the child. But she never spoke of these things, and, lest her mother should ponder painfully on them now, she began to talk of lighter matters. Yet though the sweet companionship of her only daughter was balm to Mrs. Rothsay's heart, still there was a pain there which even Olive could not remove. Was it that the mother's love

Starting point is 02:16:44 had sprung from the ruins of the wife's happiness, and that when smiling gaily with her child, Sibilla Rothsa's thoughts were with the husband who, year by year, was growing more estranged, and whom, as she found out too late, by a little more wisdom, patience and womanly sympathy, she might perhaps have kept forever at her side. But none of these mysteries came to the knowledge of Little Olive. She lived the dream life of early girlhood, dwelling in an atmosphere still and pure as a gray spring morning ere the sun has risen. All she learnt was from books,

Starting point is 02:17:19 for though she had occasional teachers she had never been sent to school. Sometimes she regretted this, thinking how pleasant it would be to have companions, or at least one friend of her own age, to whom she might talk on the various subjects of which she had of late begun to dream. These never passed the still sanctuary of her own thoughts, for some instinct told her that her mother would not sympathize with her fancies. So she thought of them always by herself,

Starting point is 02:17:45 when she was strolling about the small but pleasant garden that sloped down from the back of the house to the river, or, when extending her peregrinations, she went to sit in the summer-house of the garden adjoining, which belonged to a large mansion close by, long uninhabited. It was quite a punishment to Olive when a family came to live there, and she lost the use of the beautiful deserted garden. Still, it was something new to have neighbors. She felt quite a curiosity respecting them, which was not diminished when, looking out one day

Starting point is 02:18:15 from the staircase window, a favorite seat from which every night she watched the sunset, olive caught sight of the new occupants of her former haunts. They were two little boys of about nine or ten, playing noisily enough as boys will. Olive did not notice them much, except the youngest, who appeared much the quieter and gentler of the two, but her gaze rested a long time on a girl who seemed to be their elder sister. She was walking by herself up and down an alley, with a shawl thrown over her head, and her thick black hair blown about by the March winds. Olive thought she looked very picturesque, in fact, just like some of her own fantastic designs

Starting point is 02:18:55 of Nourna on the fitful head, Medora watching for Conrad. etc., etc. And when the young stranger drew nearer, her admiration was still further excited by perceiving under the shawl a face that needed but a little romantic imagination to make it positively beautiful. Olive thought so, and accordingly sat the whole evening drawing it from memory and putting it into various characters, from Scott, Byron, Moore, and Coleridge. For several A few days after, she took a deep interest in watching the family party, and chiefly this young girl, partly because she was so pretty, and partly because she seemed nearly about her own age, or perhaps a year or two older.

Starting point is 02:19:36 Olive often contrived to walk in her garden when her neighbors were in theirs, so that she could hear the boys' cheerful voices over the high hedge. By this means she learnt their Christian names, Robert and Lyle, the latter of which she admired very much, and thought it exactly suited the pretty, delicate younger brother. She wished much to find out the name of their sister, but could not, for the elder girl took little notice of them, or they of her. So, Olive, after thinking and talking of her for some time as, My Beauty Next Door, to Mrs. Rothsay's great amusement, at last christened her by the imaginary name of Madelena. After a few weeks it seemed as though the interest between the young neighbors became mutual,

Starting point is 02:20:17 for Olive in her walks, sometimes fancied she saw faces watching her, too, from the staircase window, and once peering over the wall, she perceived the mischievous eyes and pointed finger of the elder boy, and heard the younger one say reproachfully, "'Don't, pray, you are very cruel, Bob!' And Olive, deeply blushing, though at what she scarcely knew, fled into the house and did not take her usual garden walks for some days. At last, when, one lovely spring evening, she stood leaning over the low wall at the garden's end, idly watching the river flow by beneath,

Starting point is 02:20:52 She turned round and saw fixed on her, with a curiosity not unmingled with interest, the dark eyes of Madelena. Somehow or other the two girls smiled, and then the elder spoke. The evening was very fine, she said, and it was rather dull walking in the garden all alone. Olive had never found it so, but she was used to it. Her young neighbor was not. She had always lived in a large town, etc., etc. A few more simple nothings spun out the conversation for ten.

Starting point is 02:21:22 ten minutes. The next day it was resumed and extended to twenty, during which Olive learnt that her young beauty's name, so far from being anything so fine as Madelena, was plain Sarah, or Sarah S-A-R-A, as its owner took care to explain. Olive was rather disappointed, but she thought of Coleridge's lady-love, consoled herself, and tried to console the young lady with repeating, my pensive Sarah, thy soft cheek reclined, etc. At which Miss Sarah Derwent laughed and asked who wrote that very pretty poetry. Olive was a little confounded. She fancied everybody read Coleridge,

Starting point is 02:22:00 and her companion sank just one degree in her estimation. But as soon as she looked again on the charming face, with its large, languishing Asiatic eyes and delicate mouth, just like that of the lotus-leaved Clytie, which she loved so much, Olive felt all her interest revive. Never was there any girl over whom every form of beauty exercised more fascination. By the week's end she was positively enchanted with her neighbor, and before a month had passed, the two young girls had struck up that romantic friendship

Starting point is 02:22:30 peculiar to sixteen. There is a deep beauty, more so than the world will acknowledge, in this impassioned first friendship, most resembling first love, the foreshadowing of which it truly is. Who does not, even while smiling at its apparent folly, remembered the sweetness of such a dream? Many a mother with her children at her knee may now and then call to mind some old playmate, for whom, when they were girls together, she felt such an intense love. How they used to pine for the daily greeting, the long walk fraught with all sorts of innocent secrets.

Starting point is 02:23:05 Or in absence, the almost interminable letters, positive love letters full of dearest and beloveds and sealing-wax kisses. Then the delicious meetings, sad partings also quite lover-like in the multiplicity of tears and embraces, embraces sweeter than those of all the world beside, and tears, but our own are gathering while we write, ah, we also have been in Arcadia. Gracious reader, grave, stayed mother of a family, you are not quite right if you jest at the days of old and at such feelings as these. They were real at the time, and most people pure, true, and beautiful. What matter if years sweeping on have swept them all away, or merged them into higher duties and closer ties? Perhaps, if you met your beautiful idol of fifteen, you would

Starting point is 02:23:53 see a starched old maid of fifty, or a grandam presiding over the third generation, or perchance, in seeking thus, you would find only a green hillock, or a stone inscribed with the well-known name. But what of that? To you the girlish image is still the same. It never can grow up. old or change or die. Think of it thus, and then you will think not mockingly, but with an interest almost mournful, on the rapturous dream of first friendship which now came to visit Olive Rothsay. Sarah Derwent was the sort of girl of whom we meet some hundreds in a lifetime. The class from whence are taken the lauded mothers, wives, and daughters of England. She was sincere, good-tempered and affectionate, not over-clever, being more gifted with heart

Starting point is 02:24:38 than brains, rather vain, which fault her extreme prettiness half excused, always anxious to do right, yet, from a want of decision of character, often contriving to do wrong. But she completely charmed the simple Olive with her beauty, her sparkling, winning cheerfulness, and her ready sympathy. So they became the most devoted friends. Not a day passed without their spending some portion of it together, Olive teaching the young Londoner the pleasures of the country, and Sarah, in her turn, inducting the wondering Olive into all the delightful mysteries of life, as learnt in a large home circle and a still larger circle of society. Olive, not taking aught from the passionate love with which she looked up to her mother,

Starting point is 02:25:21 yet opened her warm heart to the sweetness of this affection, so fresh, so sudden, so full of sympathetic contact. It was like a new revelation in her girlhood, the satisfying of a thirst just beginning to be felt. She thought of Sarah continually, delighting. in being with her, in admiring her beauty and making interests out of every interest of hers. And to think that her friend loved her in return brought a sensation of deep happiness, not unmixed with gratitude. Sarah's own feelings may be explained by one sentence of a letter which she wrote to an old schoolfellow.

Starting point is 02:25:56 Therein she told how she had found, such a dear, loving, gentle thing, a girl, not pretty, even slightly deformed, but who was an amusing companion and to whom she could confide everything. such a blessing in that dull place, old church. Poor little Olive End of Chapter 11 Chapter 12 of Olive. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dinah Maria Crake, Chapter 12.

Starting point is 02:26:33 As the summer advanced, Olive Rothsay and her new friend, sanctioned by the elders of both families, took long walks together, read and practice. Not that Olive practiced, for she had no voice and little knowledge of music, but she listened to Sarah's performances for hours, with patience, if not with delight. And when they talked, oh, what talks those were! Now, reader, be not alarmed lest we should indulge you with the same.

Starting point is 02:27:01 Go back into your own repertoire of early friendships, and that will suit us quite as well. Still, we may just say that these young friends flitted like bees over every subject under heaven, and at last elighted on the subject most interesting at their age. Love. It is curious to note how the heart first puts out its tendrils and stretches them forth toward the yet unknown good which is to be in afterlife its happiness and its strength. What folly of parents to repress these blind seekings after such knowledge, this yearning which nature teaches, and which in itself involves nothing wrong. Girls will think of love whether or no. How much better then that they should be taught to think of it rightly as the one deep feeling of life,

Starting point is 02:27:48 not, on the one hand, to be repressed by ridicule, nor on the other to be forced by romance into a precocious growth, but to be entered upon when fate brings the time, rationally, earnestly, and sacredly. Olive Rothsay found, with considerable pain, that Miss Derwent and she did not at all agree in their notions of love. Olive had always felt half-frightened at the subject, and never approached it save with great awe and timidity, but Sarah did not seem to mind it in the least. She talked of a score of flirtations at quadrille parties, showed her friend half a dozen complimentary billet-due which she had received, and all with the greatest unconcern. By degrees this indifference vanished under the influence of Olive's more earnest nature,

Starting point is 02:28:36 and at last, when they were sitting together one night, listening to the fierce howling of the wind, a little secret came out. "'I don't like that equinoctial gale,' said Sarah shyly. "'I used to hear so much of its horrors from a friend I have, at sea.' "'Indeed, who was that?' "'Only Charles Gettys. "'Did I never speak of him?' "'Very likely not, because I was so vexed.

Starting point is 02:29:00 at his leaving college and running off to sea. It was a foolish thing, but don't mention him to Papa or the boys. And Sarah blushed, a real good, honest blush. Olive did the same, perhaps from sympathy. She continued very thoughtful for a long time, longer even than Sarah. They were not many days in making out between them the charming secret, for which in their hearts they had been longing. Both were thirsting to taste, or at least to see each other. taste, of that enchanting love stream, the stream of life or of death, at whose verge they had now arrived. And so, it somehow chanced that, however the conversation began, it usually glided into the subject of Charles Gettys. Sarah acknowledged that he and she had always liked one another

Starting point is 02:29:50 very much, though she allowed that he was fonder of her than she was of him, that when they parted he had seemed much agitated, and she had cried, but they were mere boy and girl then. It was nothing, nothing at all. Olive did not think so, and, contrasting all this with similar circumstances in her pet poems and novels, she wove a very nice romance round Charles Geddes and her beloved Sarah, whom she now began to look upon with greater interest and reverence than ever. This did not prevent her reading Sarah a great many lectures on Constancy, and giving her own opinions on what true love ought to be, opinions which were a little too ethereal for

Starting point is 02:30:31 Miss Durwin's comprehension, but which she liked very much nevertheless. Olive took quite an affectionate interest in her friend's lover, for lover she had decided that he must be. Not a day past that she did not eagerly consult the Times' shipping intelligence, and when at last she saw the name of Charles Getty's vessel as arrived, her heartbeat and tears sprang to her eyes. When she was she was, she was a little bit. When she She showed it to Sarah. Olive could hardly speak for joy. Little Simpleton, she counted her friend's happiness as if it were her own. She kept the secret even from her mother, that is, in the only manner Olive would conceal aught from anyone so beloved, by saying, please, Mama, do not ask me anything.

Starting point is 02:31:15 And Mrs. Rothsay, who always guided by someone, was now in a fair way to be entirely guided by her daughter, made no inquiries, but depended entirely upon Olive's wisdom and tenderness. Charles Geddes came to Old Church. It was quite a new life for Olive, a changed life too, for now the daily rambles with her friend were less frequent, instead of which she used to sit at her window, and watch Sarah and Charles taking long strolls in the garden, arm in arm, looking so happy that it was beautiful to see them. Who can describe the strange, half-to-find thoughts which often brought tears to the young girl's eyes as she watched them thus. It was no jealousy of Sarah's deserting her for Charles, still less was it envy, but it was a vague longing,

Starting point is 02:32:03 a desiring of love for love's own sake, not as regarded any individual object, for Olive had never seen anyone in whom she felt or fancied the slightest interest. Yet, as she looked on these two young creatures, apparently so bound up in each other, she thought how sweet such a time be, and how dearly she herself could love someone, and her yearning was always to love rather than to be loved. One morning, when Olive had not seen Sarah for a day or two, she was hastily summoned to their usual tristing place, a spot by the riverside where the two gardens met, and where an overarching thorn-tree made a complete bower.

Starting point is 02:32:43 Therein Sarah stood, looking so pale and serious that Olive remarked it. Has anything happened? "'Nothing, that is, nothing amiss. "'But, oh, Olive, what do you think? "'Charles put this letter into my hand last night. "'I have scarcely slept. "'I feel so agitated, so frightened. "'And in truth she looked so.

Starting point is 02:33:04 "'Was there ever a very young girl who did not "'on receiving her first love letter? "'It was an era in Olive's life, too. "'She even trembled, as by her friend's earnest desire "'she read the missive. "'It was boyish indeed, "'and full of the ultra-romero. romantic devotion of boyish love, but it was sincere, and it touched Olive deeply. She finished

Starting point is 02:33:26 it, and leaned against the thorn-tree, pale and agitated as Sarah herself. "'Well, Olive?' said the latter. Olive threw her arms round her friend's neck and kissed her, feeling almost ready to cry. "'And now, dear, tell me what I must do,' said Sarah, earnestly, for of late she had really begun to look up to Olive, so great was the influence of the more thoughtful and higher nature. Do. Why, if you love him, you must tell him so, and give him your whole lifelong faith and affection. Really, Olive, how grave you are! I had no idea of making it such a serious matter, but poor Charles, to think that he should love me so very much. Oh, Sarah! Sarah, murmured Olive, how happy you ought to be! The time that followed was a strange

Starting point is 02:34:16 period in Olive's life. It was one of considerable excitement, too. She might as well have been in love herself, so deeply did she sympathize with Sarah and with Charles. With the latter even more than with her friend, for there was something in the sincere, reserved and yet passionate nature of the young sailor that answered to her own. If he had been her brother, she could not have felt more warmly interested in Charles Gettys and his wooing, and he liked her very much, for Sarah's sake first, and then for her own, regarding her also with that gentle compassion which the strong and bold delight to show to the weak. He often called her his faithful little friend, and truly she stood his friend in every conceivable way, by soothing Sarah's only parent,

Starting point is 02:35:00 a most irascible papa, to consent to the engagement, and also by lecturing the gay and coquettish Sarah herself into as much good behavior as could be expected from an affianced damsel of 17. Charles Gettys went to see again. Poor little Olive in her warm sympathies suffered almost as much as the young man's own betrothed, who, after looking doleful for a week, consoled herself by entering, heart and soul, into the gaieties of the gayest Christmas that ever was spent by the society of Old Church. Everywhere Miss Derwent was the bell, and continually did her friend need to remind her of the promise which Olive herself regarded as such a sacred, solemn thing. The love adventure in which she had borne apart had stirred strange depths in the nature of the young girl. She was awakening slowly to the great mystery of woman's life. And when, by degrees, Sarah's amusements somewhat alienated their continual intercourse, Olive was thrown back upon her own thoughts more and more. She felt a vague sadness, a something wanting in her heart,

Starting point is 02:36:05 which not even her mother's love could supply. Mrs. Rothsay saw how dull and pensive she was at times, and with a tender unselfishness contrived that, by Sarah Derwent's intervention, Olive should see a little more society, in a very quiet way, though, for her own now delicate health and Captain Rothsay's will prevented any regular introduction of their daughter into the world, and sometimes Mrs. Rothsay, pondering on Olive's future, felt glad of this. Poor child! She is not made for the world or the world for her. Better that she should lead her own quiet life, where she will suffer no pain and be wounded by no neglect. Yet nevertheless it was with a vague pleasure that Mrs. Rothsay dressed olive for her first ball,

Starting point is 02:36:49 a birthday treat, coaxed by Sarah Derwent out of her formidable papa, and looked forward to by both girls for many weeks. No one would have believed that the young creature, on whom Mrs. Rothesay gazed with a tenderness, not unmingled with admiration, had been the poor infant from which she once turned with a sensation of pain, almost amounting to disgust. But learning to love, one learns also to admire. Besides, Olive's defect was less apparent as she grew up, and the extreme sweetness of her countenance almost atoned for her bad figure. Yet, as the mother fastened her white dress and arranged the golden curls

Starting point is 02:37:26 so as to fall in a shower on her neck and bosom, she sighed heavily. Olive did not notice it. She was too much occupied in tying up a rare bouquet. a birthday gift for Sarah. "'Well, are you quite satisfied with my dress, dearest Mama?' "'Not quite.' And Mrs. Rothsay fetched a small mantle of white fur which she laid round Olive's shoulders. "'Where, this, dear, you will look better, then, see?'

Starting point is 02:37:52 She led her to the mirror, and Olive saw the reflection of her own figure, so effectually disguised that the head, with its delicate and spiritual beauty, seemed lifting itself out of a white cloud. "'Tis a pretty little mantle, but why must I wear it, Mama, the night is not cold?' So little did she think of herself, and so slight had been her intercourse with the world, that the defect in her shape rarely crossed her mind. But the mother, so beautiful herself, and to whom beauty was still of such importance, was struck with bitter pain. She would not even console herself by the reflection, with which many a one had lately comforted

Starting point is 02:38:29 her, that Olive's slight deformity was becoming less perceptible, and that she was might, in a great measure, outgrow it in time. Still it was there. As Mrs. Rathsay looked at the swan-like curves of her own figure and then at her daughters, she would almost have resigned her own, once cherished but now disregarded beauty, could she have bestowed that gift upon her beloved child. Without speaking, lest Olive should guess her thoughts, she laid the mantle aside, only she whispered in bidding a Jew, "'Dear, if you see other girls prettier or more admired, more noticed than yourself, never mind. Olive is Mama's own pet, always.

Starting point is 02:39:07 Oh, blessed adversity! Oh, sweetness, taught by suffering! How marvelous was the change wrought in Sibylla's heart! Olive had never in her life before been at a private ball, with chalked floors, rout seats, and a regular band. She was quite dazzled by the transformation thus affected in the Derwent's large, rarely-used dining-room, where she had had many a merry game with little Robert and Lyle.

Starting point is 02:39:31 It was perfect fairyland. The young damsels of old church, haughty boarding-school bells whom she had always rather feared when Sarah's hospitality brought her in contact with them, were now grown into perfect court beauties. She was quite alarmed by their dignity, and they scarcely noticed poor little olive at all. Sarah, sweeping across the room, appeared to the eyes of her little friend a perfect queen of beauty. But the vision came and vanished. never was there a bell so much in request as the lively Sarah.

Starting point is 02:40:03 Only once Olive looked at her, and remembered the sailor boy, who was perhaps tossing in some awful night-storm or lying on the lonely deck in the midst of the wide Atlantic, and she thought that when her time came to love and be loved, she would not take everything quite so easily as Sarah. How pleasant quadrilles must be, said Olive, as she sat with her favorite Lyle watching the dancers. Lyle had crept to her, sliding his hand in hers, and looking up to her with a most adoring gaze,

Starting point is 02:40:33 as indeed he often did. He had even communicated his intention of marrying her when he grew a man, a determination which greatly excited the ridicule of his elder brother. "'I like far better to sit here quietly with you,' murmured the faithful little cavalier. "'Thank you, Lyle. Still they all look so merry. I almost wish someone had asked me to dance.' "'You dance, Miss Rothsay, what fun!' Why nobody would ever dance with you, cried rude Bob. Lyle looked imploringly at his brother. Hush, you naughty boy!

Starting point is 02:41:06 Please, Miss Rothsay, I will dance with you at any time, that is, if you think I am tall enough. Oh, quite, I am so small myself, answered Olive, laughing, for she took quite a pride in patronizing him, as girls of sixteen often affectionately patronized boys some five or six years their junior. You know you are to grow up to be my little husband. "'Your husband,' repeated Bob, mischievously,

Starting point is 02:41:29 "'don't be too sure of getting one at all. "'What do you think I overheard those girls there say, "'that you looked just like an old maid, "'and indeed no one would ever care to marry you "'because you were—' "'Here Lyle, blushing crimson, "'stopped his brother's mouth with his little hand, "'whereat Bob flew into such a passion

Starting point is 02:41:47 "'that he quite forgot Olive, "'and all he was about to say "'in the excitement of a pugilistic combat "'with his unlucky cadet. "'In the midst of which the two believe, Deligerents, poor, untaught motherless lads, were hurried off to bed. Their companionship lost, Olive was left very much to her own devices for amusement. Some few young people that she knew came and talked to her for a little while, but they all

Starting point is 02:42:10 went back to their singing, dancing or flirting, and Olive, who seemed to have no gift nor share in either, was left alone. She did not feel this much at first, being occupied in her thoughts and observations on the rest. She took great interest in noticing all around. Her warm heart throbbed in sympathy with many an idle passing flirtation, which she and her simplicity mistook for a real attachment. It seemed as if everyone loved or was loved except herself.

Starting point is 02:42:38 She thought this, blushing as if it were unmaidenliness, when it was only nature speaking in her heart. Poor Olive! Perhaps it was ill for her that Sarah's love affair had aroused prematurely these blind gropings after life's great mystery. so often, too early seen unknown and known too late. "'What, tired of dancing already?' cried Sarah, flitting to the corner where Olive sat. "'I have not danced once yet,' Olive answered, rather piteously.

Starting point is 02:43:07 "'Come, shall I get you a partner?' said Sarah carelessly. "'No, no, everyone is strange to me here. If you please, and if it would not trouble you, Sarah, I had much rather dance with you.' Sarah consented with a tolerably good grace, but there was a slight shableness. on her face which somewhat pained her friend. "'Is she ashamed of me, I wonder?' thought Olive. "'Perhaps because I am not beautiful. Yet no one ever told me I was very disagreeable to look at.

Starting point is 02:43:35 I will see.' As they danced, she watched in the tall mirror Sarah's graceful floating image and the little pale figure that moved beside her. There was a contrast. Olive, who inherited all her mother's love of beauty, spiritualized by the refinement of a dawning artist's soul, felt keenly the longing regret after physical perfection. She went through the dance with less spirit,

Starting point is 02:43:59 and in her heart there wrung the idle echoes of some old song she knew. I see the courtly ladies stand, with their dark and shining hair, and I coldly turn aside to weep, oh, would that I were fair. The quadrille ended she hid herself in her old corner, and Sarah, whose good nature led her to perform this sacrifice to friendship, seemed to smile more pleasantly and affectionately when it was over. At least Olive thought so. She did not see her beautiful idol again for some time,

Starting point is 02:44:27 and feeling little interest in any other girl, and not at all in the awkward old church beau, she took consolation in her own harmless fashion. This was hiding herself under the thick curtains and looking out of the window at the moon. Sarah's voice was heard close by, talking to a young girl whom Olive knew, but Olive was too shy to join them.

Starting point is 02:44:48 She greatly preferred her friend, the moon. "'I laughed to see you dancing with that little Olive Roth, say Miss Derwent. For my part, I hate dancing with girls, and as for her, but I suppose you wanted to show the contrast.' "'Nay, that's ill-natured,' answered Sarah. She is a sweet little creature and my very particular friend. Here, Olive, blushing and happy, doubted whether she ought not to come out of the curtains. It was almost wrong to listen, only her beloved Sarah often said she had no secrets from Olive. Yes, I know she is your friend, and Mr. Charles Getty's great friend, too.

Starting point is 02:45:24 If I were you, I should be almost jealous. Jealous of Olive! How very comical! And the silver laugh was a little scornful. To think of olives stealing any girl's lover! She who will probably never have one in all her life, poor thing! Of course not. Nobody would fall in love with her, but there is a waltz I must run away.

Starting point is 02:45:45 Will you come? Presently, when I have looked in the other room for her, for Olive." "'Aulive is here,' said a timid voice. "'Oh, Sarah, forgive me if I have done wrong, but I can't keep anything from you. It would grieve me to think I heard what you were saying and never told you of it.' Sarah appeared confused, and with a quick impulse kissed and fondled her little friend. "'You are not vexed or pained, Olive.

Starting point is 02:46:09 Oh, no, that is, not much. It would be very silly if I were. But,' she added doubtfully, "'I wish you would tell me one thing, Sarah. "'Not that I am proud or vain, but still I should like to know. "'Why did you and Jane Ormond say just now that nobody would ever love me?' "'Don't talk so, my little pet,' said Sarah, looking pained and puzzled. "'Yet instinctively her eye glanced to the mirror where their two reflections stood. "'So did olives.'

Starting point is 02:46:37 "'Yes, I know,' she murmured. "'I am little and plain and in figure very awkward, not graceful like you. "'Would that make people hate me, Sarah?' "'Not hate you?' not hate you but well go on nay i will know all said olive firmly though gradually a thought long subdued began to dawn painfully in her mind i assure you dear began sarah hesitatingly that it does not signify to me or to any of those who care for you you are such a gentle little creature we forget it all in time but perhaps with strangers especially with men who think so much about beauty this defect she paused laying her arm round olive's shoulders even affectionately as if she herself were much moved but olive with a cheek that whitened and a lip that quivered more and more looked resolutely at her own shape imaged in the glass i see as i never saw before so little i thought of myself yes it is quite true quite true she spoke beneath her breath and her eyes seemed fascinated into a hard cold gaze sarah became almost frightened

Starting point is 02:47:46 "'Do not look so, my dear girl. I did not say that it was a positive deformity.' "'A Olive faintly shuddered. Ah, that is the word. I understand it all now.' She paused a moment covering her face, but very soon she sat down, so quiet and pale that Sarah was deceived. "'You do not mind it, then, Olive. You are not angry with me,' she said soothingly. "'Angry with you? How could I be?' "'Then you will come back with me and we will have another dance.' "'Oh, no, no!' Oh, and the cheerful, good-natured voice seemed to make Olive shrink with pain.

Starting point is 02:48:21 Sarah, dear Sarah, let me go home. End of Chapter 12. Chapter 13 of Olive. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dinah Maria Crake. Chapter 13. Well, my love, was the ball as pleasant as you expected, said Mrs. Rothsay, when Olive drew the curtains and roused her invalid mother to the

Starting point is 02:48:51 usual early breakfast, received from no hands but hers. Olive answered quietly, everyone said it was pleasant. But you, returned the mother, with an anxiety she could scarce disguise, who talked to you, who danced with you? No one except Sarah. Poor child was the half-involuntary sigh, and Mrs. Rothsay drew her daughter to her with deep tenderness.

Starting point is 02:49:16 It was a strange fate that made the once slighted child almost the only thing in the world to which Sibilla Rothsay now clung, and yet, so rich, so full, had grown the springs of maternal love, long hidden in her nature, that she would not have exchanged their sweetness to be again the petted, willful, beautiful darling of society as she was at Stirling. The neglected wife, the often ailing mother, dependent on her daughter's tenderness, was happier and nearer to heaven than she had ever been in her life. mrs rothsay regarded olive earnestly you look as ill as if you had been up all night and yet you came to bed tolerably early and i thought you slept you lay so quiet was it so darling not quite i was thinking said olive truthfully though her face flushed for she would fain have kept her bitter thoughts from her mother just then mrs rothsay started at the sound of the hall bell is that your father come home he said he might to-day or to-morrow

Starting point is 02:50:18 Olive went downstairs. It was only a letter to say Captain Rothsay would return that day, and would bring, most rare circumstance, some guests to visit them. Olive seemed to shrink painfully at this news. What, my child, are you not pleased? It will make the house less dull for you. No, no, I do not wish, oh, Mama, if I could only shut myself up and never see anyone but you. And Olive turned very pale, at last, resolutely trying to, to speak without any show of trouble, she continued. "'I have found out something that I never knew, "'at least never thought of before,

Starting point is 02:50:56 "'that I am different from other girls. "'Oh, mother, am I really deformed?' "'She spoke with much agitation. "'Mrs. Rothsay burst into tears. "'Oh, Olive, how wretched you make me to talk thus! "'Unhappy mother that I am! "'Why should heaven have punished me thus?' "'Punished you, mother!'

Starting point is 02:51:15 "'Nay, my child, my poor, innocent. child, I did not mean that, cried Mrs. Rothsay, embracing her with a passionate revulsion of feeling. But the word was said, to linger forever after on Olive's mind. It brought back the look once written on her childish memory, grown faint but never quite erased, her father's first look. She understood it now. Mrs. Rothsay continued weeping, and Olive had to cast aside all other feelings in the care of soothing her mother. She succeeded at last, but she looked at last. learned at the same time that on this one subject there must be silence between them forever.

Starting point is 02:51:53 It seemed also, to her sensitive nature, as if every tear and every complaining word were a reproach to the mother that bore her. Henceforth her bitter thoughts must be wrestled with alone. She did so wrestle with them. She walked out into her favorite meadow, now lying in the silent, frost-bound mistiness of a January day. It was where she had often been in summer with Sarah and Charles Geddes and the little boys. Now everything seemed so wintry and lonely. What if her own future life were so? One long winter day wherein was neither beauty, gladness, nor love. I am deformed. That was Sarah's own word, murmured Olive to herself. If this is felt by one who loves me, what must I appear to the world? Will not all shrink from me?

Starting point is 02:52:41 And even those who pity turn away in pain? As for loving me? Thinking, thus, Olive's fancy began to count, almost in despair, all those whose affection she had ever known. There was Elsby, there were her parents. Yet the love of both father and mother, how sweet so ever now, had not blessed her always. She remembered the time when it was not there. "'Alas! that I should have been even to them a burden, a punishment!' cried the girl, in the first outburst of suffering which became ten times keener, because concealed. Her vivid fancy even exaggerated the truth. She saw in herself a poor deformed being shut out from all natural ties, a woman to whom friendship would be given but in kindly pity, to whom love, that blissful

Starting point is 02:53:28 dream in which she had of late indulged, would be denied forevermore. How hard seemed her doom! If it were for months only or even years, but to bear for a whole life this withering ban, never to be freed from it except through death, and her lips unconsciously rewerely, repeated the bitter murmur, "'Oh, God, why hast thou made me thus?' It was scarcely uttered before her heart trembled at its impiety, and then the current of her thoughts changed. Those mysterious yearnings which had haunted her throughout childhood, until they had grown fainter under the influence of earthly ties and pleasures, returned to her now. God's immeasurable infinite rose before her in glorious serenity.

Starting point is 02:54:11 What was one brief lifetime to the ages of eternity? She felt it. She, in her weakness, her untaught childhood, her helplessness, felt that her poor deformed body enshrined a living soul, a soul that could look on heaven, and on whom heaven also looked, not like man with scorn or loathing, but with a divine tenderness that had power to lift the mortal into communion with the immortal. Olive Rothsay seemed to have grown years older in that hour of solitary musing. She walked homewards through the silent fields, over which the early night was falling, night coming as it were in the midst of day, where the only light was given by the white, cold snow. To Olive, this was a symbol, too, a token that the freezing sorrow

Starting point is 02:54:59 which had fallen on her path might palely light her on her earthly way. Strange things for a young girl to dream of. But they whom heaven teaches are sometimes called, Samuel-like, while to them still pertains the childish effed and the temple porch. Passing on, with footsteps silent and solemn as her own heart, Olive came to the street, on the verge of the town, where was her own dwelling in Sarah's. From habit she looked in at the Derwent's house. It had all the cheerful brightness given by a blazing fire, glimmering through windows not yet closed. Olive could plainly distinguish the light shining on the crimson wall,

Starting point is 02:55:36 even the merry faces of the circle round the hearth, and as if to chant the chorus of so sweet a scene there broke out on the clear frosty air the distant carillon of old church bells marriage bells too signifying that not far off was dawning another scene of love and hope that somewhere in the parish was celebrated the coming home of a bride The young creature born with a woman's longings, longings neither unholy nor impure, after the love which is the religion of a woman's heart, the sweetness of home which is the heaven of a woman's life, felt that from both she was shut out for ever. Not for me, alas, not for me, she murmured, and her head drooped, and it seemed as though a cold hand were laid on her breast, saying, grow still and throb no more. Then, lifting her eyes, she saw shining far up in the sky,

Starting point is 02:56:26 beyond the mist and the frost and the gloom one little star, the only one. With a long sigh her soul seemed to pass upward in prayer. Oh, God, since thou hast willed it so, if in this world I must walk alone, do thou walk with me? If I must know no human love, fill my soul with thine. If earthly joy be far from me, give me that peace of heaven which passeth all understanding. And so, mournful yet serene, Olive Rothsay reached her home. She found her friend there. Sarah looked confused at seeing her, and appeared to try, with the unwanted warmth of her greeting,

Starting point is 02:57:08 to efface from Olive's mind the remembrance of what had happened the previous evening. But Olive, for the first time, shrank from these tokens of affection. Even Sarah's love may be only compassion, she bitterly thought, but her father's nature was in the girl, his self-command. his proud reserve. Sarah Derwent only thought her rather silent and cold. There was a constraint on both, so much so that Olive heard, without testifying much pain, news which a few days before would have grieved her to the heart. This visit was a good-bye. Sarah had been suddenly sent for by her grandfather, who lived in a distant county, and the summons entailed a parting of some weeks,

Starting point is 02:57:48 perhaps longer. But I shall not forget you, Olive, I shall write to you constantly. It will be my soul amusement in the dull place I am going to. Why nobody ever used to enter my grandfather's house except the parson, who lived some few miles off, poor old soul. I used to set fire to his wig and hide his spectacles. But he is dead now, I hear, and there has come in his place a young clergyman. Shall I strike up a little flirtation with him, eh, Olive? But Olive was in no jesting mood. She only shook her head. Mrs. Rothsay looked with admiration on Sarah. What a blithe young creature you You are, my dear. You win everybody's liking. I wish Olive were only half as merry as you." Another arrow in poor Olive's heart.

Starting point is 02:58:32 "'Well, we must try to make her so when I come back,' said Sarah affectionately. "'I shall have tales enough to tell, perhaps, about that young curate. Nay, don't frown, Olive. My cousin says he is a Scotsman born, and you like Scotland. Only his father was Welsh, and he has a horrid Welsh name—' "'Wirder or Gwyn or something like it. But I'll give you all information.' And then she rose, still laughing to bid adieu, which seemed so long a farewell, when the friends had never yet been parted but for one brief day. In saying it, Olive felt how dear to her had been this girl, this first idol of her warm heart. And then there came a thought almost like terror.

Starting point is 02:59:12 Though fated to live unloved, she could not keep herself from loving, and if so, how would she bear the perpetual void, the yearning never to be fulfilled? She fell on Sarah's neck and wept. You do care for me a little, only a little. A great deal, as much as ever I can, seeing I have so many people to care for, answered Sarah, trying to laugh away the tears that, from sympathy perhaps, sprang to her eyes. Ah, true, and everybody cares for you.

Starting point is 02:59:43 No wonder, answered Olive. Now, little Olive, why do you put on that grave face? Are you going to lecture me about not flirting with that stupid curate, and always remembering Charles. Oh, no fear of that. I hope not, said Olive quietly. She could talk no more, and they bade each other good-bye, perhaps not quite so enthusiastically as they might have done a week ago, but still with much affection. Sarah had reached the door, when with a sudden impulse she came back again. Olive, I am a foolish, thoughtless girl, but if ever I pained you in any way, don't think of it again. Kiss me, will you, once more?

Starting point is 03:00:19 Olive did so, clinging to her passionately. When Sarah went away, she felt as though the first flower had perished in her garden, the first star had melted from her sky. Sarah gone, she went back to her old, dreamy life. The romance of first friendship seemed to have been swept away like a morning cloud. From Sarah there came no letters. Olive wrote once or twice, even thrice, but a sense of wounded feeling prevented her writing again. Robert and Lyle told her their sister was quite well and very merry. Then over all the dream of

Starting point is 03:00:53 sweet affection fell a cold silence. In Olive's own home were arising many cares. A great change came over her father. His economical habits became those of the wildest extravagance, extravagance in which his wife and daughter were not likely to share. Little they saw of it either, save during his rare visits to his home. Then he either spent his evenings out, or else dining, smoking, drinking, disturbed the quiet house at Old Church. Many a time, till long after midnight, the mother and child sat listening to the gay tumult of voices below, clinging to each other pale and sad. Not that Captain Rothsay was unkind, or that either had any fear for him, for he had always been a strict and temperate man, but it pained them to think that any society seemed sweeter to

Starting point is 03:01:41 him than that of his wife and daughter, that any place was become dearer to him than his home. One night, when Mrs. Rothsay appeared exhausted, either with weariness or sorrow of heart, Olive persuaded her mother to go to rest, while she herself sat up for her father. Nay, let some of the servants do that, not you, my child. But Olive, innocent as she was, had accidentally seen the footman's smile rudely when he spoke of Master coming home last night, and a vague thought struck her that such a late hours were discreditable in the head of a family. Her father should not be despised in his servant's eyes. She dismissed the household and waited up for him alone. Twelve, one, two, the

Starting point is 03:02:23 hours went by like long years. Heavily at first dropped her poor drowsy eyes, and then all weariness was dispelled by a feeling of loneliness, an impression of coming sorrow. At last, when this was gradually merging into fear, she heard the sound of the swinging gate and her father knock at the door, a loud, unsteady, angry knock. "'Why do you stay up for me? I don't want anybody to sit up,' grumbled Captain Rothsay, without looking at her. "'But I liked to wait for you, Papa. "'What, is that you, Olive?' And he stepped in with a lounging, heavy gait.

Starting point is 03:02:59 "'Did you not see me before? It was I who opened the door.' "'Oh, yes, but I was thinking of something else,' he said, throwing himself into the study chair and trying with an effort to seem just as usual you are a very good girl i am much obliged to you the pleasure is i may truly say on both sides and he energetically struck the table with his hand olive thought this an odd form of speech but her father's manner was grown so changed of late sometimes he seemed quite in high spirits even jocos as he did now i am glad to see you are not much tired papa i thought you were you walked so wearily when you first came in i tired nonsense child i have had the merriest evening in the world i'll have another to-morrow for i've asked them all to dine here we'll give dinner parties to all the county papa said olive timidly "'Will that be quite right, after what you told me of our being now so much poorer than we were?' "'Did I? Pshaw, I don't remember. However, I am a rich man now, richer than I have ever been.' "'I am so glad, because then, dear Papa, you know you need not be so much away from home,

Starting point is 03:04:11 or weary yourself with the speculations you told me of, but come and live quietly with us.' Her father laughed loudly. "'Foolish little girl! Your notion of quietness would not suit a man like me. "'Take my word for it, Olive. "'Home serves as a fantastic dream till five and twenty, "'and then means nothing at all. "'A man's home is the world. "'Is it?

Starting point is 03:04:34 "'I, as I intend to show to you, "'by, by the by, I shall give up this stupid place "'and enter into society. "'Your mother will like it, of course, "'and you as my only child. "'Gay, what did I say?' "'Here he stopped hastily with a blank, frightened look. "'Then repeated,

Starting point is 03:04:49 "'Yes, you, my only child, "'will be properly introduced to the world.' "'Why, you will be quite an heiress, my girl,' continued he, with an excited jocularity that frightened Olive, and the world always courts such. "'Who knows but that you may marry in spite of—' "'Oh, no, never!' interrupted Olive, turning away with bitter pain. "'Come, don't mind it,' continued her father, with a reckless indifference to her feelings "'quite unusual to him.

Starting point is 03:05:17 "'Why, my little sensible girl, you are better than any beauty in England. "'Beauties are all fools or worse.' And he laughed so loud, so long, that Olive was seized with a great horror that absorbed even her own individual suffering. Was her father mad? Alas, there is a madness worse than disease, a voluntary madness by which a man, longing at any price for excitement or oblivion, puts an enemy into his mouth to steal away his brains. This was the foe, the stealthy-footed demon that had at last come to overmaster the brave and noble

Starting point is 03:05:52 Angus Rothsay. As yet it ruled him not. He was no sought, but his daughter saw enough to know that the fiend was nigh upon him, that this night he was even in its grasp. It is only the noblest kind of affection that can separate the sinner from the sin, and even while condemning pity. Fallen as he was, Olive Rothsay looked on her father mournfully, entreatingly. She could not speak. He seemed annoyed and slightly confounded. "'Come, Simpleton, why do you stare at me?' "'There is nothing the matter. Go away to bed.' "'Allive did not move. "'Make haste, what are you waiting for?

Starting point is 03:06:29 "'Nay, stay, tis a cold night. "'Just leave out the keys of the sideboard, will you? "'There's a good little housekeeper,' he said coaxingly. "'Olive turned away in disgust, but only for a moment. "'In case you should want anything, let me stay a little longer, papa. "'I am not tired and I have some work to do. "'Suppose I go and fetch it.' "'She went into the inner room, slowly, quietly,

Starting point is 03:06:51 and when safe out of sight burst into tears of such shame and terror as she had never before known. Then she sat down to think, Her father thus, her mother feeble in mind or body, No one in the wide world to trust to but herself, No one to go to for comfort and counsel, none save heaven. She sank on her knees and prayed. As she rose, the angel in the daughter's soul was stronger than the demon in her father's. Olive waited a little, and then walked.

Starting point is 03:07:21 softly into the other room. Some brandy left on the sideboard had attracted Captain Rothsay's sight. He had reached it stealthily, as if the act still conveyed to his dulled brain a consciousness of degradation. Once he looked round suspiciously, alas, the father dreaded his daughter's eye. Then stealthily standing with his face to the fire, he began to drink the tempting poison. It was taken out of his hand. So noiseless was Olive's step, so gentle her movement. that he stood dumb, astonished, as though in the presence of some apparition. And in truth the girl looked like a spirit, for her face was very white, and her parted lips seemed as though they never had uttered and never could utter one living sound.

Starting point is 03:08:07 Father and daughter stood for some moments thus gazing at each other, and then Captain Rothsay threw himself into his chair with a forced laugh. "'What's the matter, little fool? Can not your father take care of himself? give me the brandy again. But she held it fast and made no answer. "'Aolive, I say, do you insult me thus?' And his voice rose in anger.

Starting point is 03:08:30 "'Go to bed, I command you, will you not?' "'No.' The refusal was spoken softly, very softly, but it expressed indomitable firmness, and there was something in the girl's resolute spirit, before which that of the man quailed. With a sudden transition, which showed that the drink had already somewhat overpowered his brain, he melted into complaints.

Starting point is 03:08:54 You are very rude to your poor father, you, almost the only comfort he has left. This touch even of maudlin sentiment went direct to Olive's heart. She clung to him, kissed him, begged his forgiveness, nay even wept over him. He ceased to rage and sat in a sullen silence for many minutes. Meanwhile, Olive took away every temptation from his sight. Then she roused, him gently. "'Now, papa, it is time to go to bed. Pray come upstairs.' He, the calm gentleman like Captain Rothsay, burst into a storm of passion that would

Starting point is 03:09:28 have disgraced a bore. How dare you order me about in this manner? Can not I do as I like without being controlled by you, a mere chit of a girl, a very child?" "'I know I am only a child,' answered Olive meekly. "'Do not be angry with me, papa. Do not speak unkindly to your poor little daughter. My daughter! How dare you call yourself so, you white-faced, mean-looking hunchback?

Starting point is 03:09:55 At the word Olive recoiled, a strong shudder ran through her frame, one long, sobbing sigh, and no more. Her father, shocked and a little sobered, paused in his cruel speech. For minutes they remained, he leaning back with a stupefied air, she's standing before him, her face drooped and covered with her hands. "'Olive,' he muttered, in a repentant, humbled tone. "'Yes, papa. "'I am quite ready. If you like, I'll go to bed now.'

Starting point is 03:10:25 "'Without speaking she lighted him upstairs. "'Nay led him, for, to his bitter shame, the guidance was not unneeded. "'When she left him, he had the grace to whisper, "'child, you are not vexed about anything I said.' "'She looked sorrowfully into his hot, fevered face and stroked his arm. "'No, no, no, no.' not vexed at all. You could not help it, poor father. She heard her mother's feeble voice speaking to him as he entered and saw his door close. Long she watched there, until beneath it

Starting point is 03:10:57 she perceived not one glimmer of light. Then she crept away, only murmuring to herself. Oh, God, teach me to endure. End of Chapter 13. Chapter 14 of Olive. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dinah Maria Crake. Chapter 14 What is the matter with the child today, said Captain Rothsay to his wife, with whom, oh, rare circumstance, he was sitting tete-a-tete. But this and a few other alterations for the better had taken place in consequence of his longer stay at home than usual, during which an unseen influence had been busily at work. Poor Olive! Was it not well for her that, to temper the first shock of her bitter destiny, there should arise in the dreary blank of the future, duties so

Starting point is 03:11:53 holy that they stood almost in the place of joys. How dull the girl seems, again observed Captain Rothsay, looking after his daughter, with a tenderness of which he afterwards appeared rather ashamed. "'Dull is she?' said the mother. "'Oh, very likely, poor child. She is grieving to lose her chief friend and companion, Miss Derwent. News came to her this morning that Sarah is about to be married.' Oh, indeed!

Starting point is 03:12:19 And Captain Rothsay made an attempt at departure. He hated gossiping even of the most harmless kind, but his wife, pleased that he condescended to talk to her at all, tried to amuse him in her own easy way. Poor Sarah! I am glad that she is going to have a home of her own, though she is young enough to marry, but I believe it was a very sudden affair,

Starting point is 03:12:40 and the gentleman fell so desperately in love with her. More fool he, muttered Captain Rothsay. "'Nay, he is not a fool at all. He is a very sensible, clever man, and a clergyman, too. Miss Derwent said so in her brief note to Olive. But she did not mention where he lived. Little indeed she told but that his name was Gwynn.' Captain Rothsay turned round quickly. And Sarah speaks of his mother being a stiff old Scotswoman. Ah, you are listening now, my dear. Let me see. I think Miss Derwent mentions her maiden name. The silly girl makes quite a boast of her lover's ancient family on the maternal side.

Starting point is 03:13:16 is no silliness in that, I hope, Mrs. Roth say. Certainly not. Was I not always proud of yours, said the wife, with a meekness not newly learnt. She hunted in her reticule for Sarah's letter, and read, "'Ah, here is the name, Alison Balfour. Do you know it?' "'I did once, when I was a boy.' "'Stay, do not go away in that hasty manner. Pray, talk to me a little more, Angus. It is so dull to be confined to this sick-room. Tell me of this Alison Balfour. You know I should should like to hear about your friends? Should you? That is something new. If it had been always so, if you had indeed made my interests yours, Sabilla, there was a touch of regret and old

Starting point is 03:13:58 tenderness in his voice. She thought he was kind on account of her illness, and thanked him warmly. But the thanks sent him back to his usual cold self. He did not like to have his weakness noticed. Mrs. Rothsay understood neither one state of feeling nor the other, so she said, cheerfully, come, now for the story of Alison Balfour. There is no story to tell. She was merely a young companion of my Aunt Flora. I knew her for some years, in fact, until she married Mr. Gwynn. She was a noble woman. "'Really, Angus, I shall grow jealous,' said Mrs. Rothsay, half in jest, half in earnest. She must have been an old love of yours.' Her husband frowned. Folly, Sabilla, she was a woman and I a schoolboy. And yet the words galled him.

Starting point is 03:14:44 for they were not far off the truth. True, Allison was old enough to have been his mother, but many a precocious lad of sixteen conceives a similar romantic passion, and Angus Rotsay had really been very much in love, as he thought, with Alison Balfour. Even when he quitted the room and walked out into the road, his thoughts went backward many years, picturing the old, dull mansion,

Starting point is 03:15:07 whose only brightness had come with her presence. He remembered how he used to walk by her side in lonely mountain rambles. he a young boy and she a grown woman, and how proud he was when she stooped her tall stature to lean upon his arm. Once she kissed him, and he lay awake all night, and many a night after, dreaming of the remembered bliss. And as he grew a youth, what delicious sweetness in these continued dreams, what pride to think himself in love, and with such a woman! Folly it was, hopeless folly, for she had been long betrothed to one she loved, but that was not Owen Gwyn. Alas, Allison, like many another proud, passionate woman, had married in sudden anger, thereby wrecking her whole life.

Starting point is 03:15:52 When she did so, Angus Rothesay lost his boyish dream. He had already begun to find out that it was only a dream, though his first fancies' idol never ceased to be to him a memory full of all that was noble and beautiful in womanhood. For many years this enchanted portion of Captain Rothesay's past life had rarely crossed his mind, but when it did it was always with a half-unconscious thought, that he himself might have been a better and a happier man, had his own beautiful Sibylla been more like Alice and Balfour. This chance news of her awakened memories connected with other scenes and characters, which had gradually melted away from Angus Rothesay's life, or been enveloped in the midst of selfishness and worldliness which had gathered over it and over him. He thought of the old uncle, Sir Andrew Rothesay, whose pride he had been, of the sweet Aunt Floress, whose pale beauty had bent over his cradle with a love almost like a mother's, save that it was

Starting point is 03:16:46 so very, very sad. One had died estranged, the other, he would not let many weeks pass before he sought out Miss Flora Rothsay, that he was determined on, and to do so, the best plan would be first to go and see Allison, Mrs. Gwynn. Captain Rothsay always kept his intentions to himself, and transacted his matters alone. Therefore, without the aid of wife or daughter, he soon discovered in what region lay Mr. Gwyn's curacy, and determined to hasten his customary journey to London that he might visit the place on his way. The night before his departure came, it was really a melancholy evening, for he had stayed at home so long and been most of the time what his wife called, so good, that she quite regretted his

Starting point is 03:17:31 going, the more so as he was about to travel by the awful railway, then newly established, which, in the opinion of poor Mrs. Rothsay, with her delicate nerves and easily roused terrors, entailed on him the certainty of being killed. She pleaded so much and so anxiously, even to the last, that when, in order to start at daybreak, he bade goodbye to her and olive overnight, Captain Rothesay was softened even to tenderness. "'Do you really care so much about me, Sibylla?' said he, half-mornfully. She did not spring to his arms like the young wife at Stirling, but she kissed his hand affectionately and called him Angus.

Starting point is 03:18:10 "'Olive,' said the father, when, having embraced his wife, he now turned to his daughter. "'Olive, my child, take care of your mother. I shall be at home soon and we shall be very happy again, all three.' As they ascended the staircase they saw him watching them from below. Olive so content, even though her father was going away. She kissed her hand to him with a blithe gesture, and then saw him go in and close the door. When the house sank into quietness, a curious feeling oppressed Captain Rothsay. It seemed to take rise in his wife's infectious fears. Women are always silly, he argued to himself. Why should I dread any danger? The railway is as safe as a coach, and yet that affair of poor Huskison! Poh, what a fool I am! But even

Starting point is 03:18:56 while he mocked it, the vague presentiment appeared to take form in his mind, and, sitting, the only person awake in the slumbering house, where no sound broke the stillness, except the falling of a few cinders, and the occasional noise of a mouse behind the wainscot, somewhat of the superstitions of his northern youth came over him. His countenance became grave, and he sank into deep thought. It is a trite saying that every man has that in his heart, which, if known, would make all his fellow creatures hate him. Was it this evil spirit which now struggled in Captain Rothsay's breast, and darkened his face with storms of passion, remorse or woe. He gave no utterance to them in words. If any secret there were, he would not

Starting point is 03:19:39 trust it even to the air. But at times his mute lips writhed, his cheeks burned and grew ghastly. Sometimes, too, he wore a cowed and humble look, as on the night when his daughter had stood like a pure angel to save him from the abyss on the brink of which he trod. She had saved him apparently, that night's shame had never occurred again. Slowly his habits were changing, and his tastes becoming home-like. But still his lonely hours betokened some secret hidden in his soul, a secret which, if known, might have accounted for his having plunged into uproarious excitement or drunken oblivion. At length, as by a violent effort, Angus Rothesay sat down and began to write. He wrote for several hours, though frequently his task was interrupted by long

Starting point is 03:20:26 reveries and by fits of vehement emotion. When he had finished, he carefully sealed up what he had written and placed it in a secret drawer of his desk. Then he threw himself on a sofa to sleep during the brief time that intervened before daybreak. In the gray of the morning, when he stood dispatching a hasty breakfast, he was startled by a light touch on his arm. "'Little Olive! Why, I thought you were fast asleep. I could not sleep when Papa was going away, so I rose and dressed. You will not be angry? Angry? No. He stooped down and kissed her, more affectionately even than was his want, but he was hasty and fidgety, as most men are when starting on a journey. They were both too busy for more words until the few minutes during which he sat down to wait for the carriage.

Starting point is 03:21:13 Then he took his daughter on his knee, an act of fatherly tenderness rather rare with him. "'I wish you were not going, or that I were going with you, Papa,' Olive whispered, nestling to him in a sweet childish way, though she was almost a woman now. "'How tired you look! You have not been in bed all night.' "'No, I had writing to do.' As he spoke his countenance darkened. "'Aolive,' he said, looking at her with sorrowful questioning eyes, "'well, dear Papa?' "'Nothing, nothing. Is the carriage ready?'

Starting point is 03:21:45 "'Not yet. You will have time just for one little thing.' "'Twill only take a minute,' said Olive persuasively. "'What is it, little one?' "'Mama is asleep. She was tired and ill. "'But if you would run upstairs and kiss her once again before you go, "'it would make her so much happier. I know it would.' "'Poor Sibylla,' he muttered, remorsefully, "'and quitted the room slowly, not meeting his daughter's eyes,

Starting point is 03:22:09 "'but when he came back he took her in his arms very tenderly. "'Olive, my child in whom I trust, "'always remember I did love you, you and your mother.' These were the last words she heard him utter, ere he went away. End of Chapter 14. Chapter 15 of Olive. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Olive, by Dinah Maria Crake.

Starting point is 03:22:39 Chapter 15. Captain Rothsay had intended to make the business excursion wait on that of pleasure, if pleasure the visit could be called, which was entered on from duty and would doubtless awaken many painful associations, but he changed. his mind, and it was not until his return from London that he stayed on the way and sought out the village of Harbury. Verbal landscape painting is rarely interesting to the general reader, and as Captain Rothsay was certainly not devoted to the picturesque, it seems idle to follow him during his ten-mile ride from the nearest railway station to the place which he discovered was

Starting point is 03:23:14 that of Mrs. Gwyn's abode, and where her son was perpetual curate. Her son? It seemed very strange to imagine Allison a mother, and yet, while he thought, Angus Rotsay almost laughed at himself for his folly. His boyish fancy had perforce faded at seventeen, and he was now, pshaw, he was somewhere above forty. As for Mrs. Gwynn, sixty would probably be nearer her age. Yet, not having seen her since she married, he never could think of her but as Alice in Balfour. As before observed, Captain Rothesay was by no means keenly susceptible to beauty of scenery. Otherwise, he would often have been attracted from his meditations by that through which he passed. Lovely woodlands, just bursting into the delicate green of spring,

Starting point is 03:23:59 deep, still streams, flowing through meadows studded with cattle. Forest roads shadowed with stately trees, and so little frequented, that the green turf spread from hedge to hedge, and the primroses and bluebells sprung up almost in the pathway. All these composed a picture of rural loveliness which is peculiar to England, and chiefly to that part of England where Harbury is situated. Captain Rothsay scarcely noticed it, until, pausing to consider his track,

Starting point is 03:24:28 he saw in the distance a church upon a hill. Beautiful and peaceful it looked, its ancient tower rising out against the sky, and the evening sun shining on its windows and gilded vein. That must surely be my landmark, thought Captain Rothsay, and he made an inquiry to that effect of a man passing by. Aye, aye, meister, was the amher. was the answer in rather unintelligible Doric.

Starting point is 03:24:52 That be his Harbury Church as sure is my name's John Dent, and that Red House, can now ye see it, that's our Parsons. Prompted by curiosity, Rothsay observed, Oh, Mr. Gwyns, he is quite a young man, I believe. Do you like him, you good folks here about? Some on us done, and some on us done a. He's not much of parson, though.

Starting point is 03:25:12 He want us send you to sleep we as long preachings, but I say the man's a good man. He'll come and see you when you're bad, and talk to ye by the hour, though he did not talk o'er the Bible. But I'm a lad to Forrest, and'll be a keeper some to im. That's better nor book-larnan. Captain Rothsay had no will to listen to more personal revelations from honest John Dent, so he said, quickly, perhaps so, my good fellow.

Starting point is 03:25:37 Then added, Mr. Gwyn has a mother living with him, I believe. What sort of person is she? Her's a good enough lady, I reckon, only a bit too proud. "'Mennie's the blanket hers again to poor folk, "'and my old mother sees her every week, "'but hers never shook hands we are yet. "'A, meister, won't you go?' "'This last remark was bellowed after Captain Rothsay,

Starting point is 03:25:59 "'whose horse had commenced a sudden canter, "'which ceased not until its owner dismounted at the parsonage gate. "'This gate formed the boundary of the garden, "'and a most lovely spot it was. "'It extended to the churchyard, "'with which it communicated by a little wicket door. "'You passed through beautiful part tares and alleys, formed of fragrant shrubs, to the spot where grew the turf in many a

Starting point is 03:26:22 mouldering heap. It seemed as though the path of death were indeed through flowers. Garden and churchyard covered the hill's summit, and from both might be discerned of view such as is rarely seen in level England. It was a panorama, extending some twenty or thirty miles across the country, where, through woodlands and meadowlands, flowed the silver windings of a small river. here and there was an old ruined castle, a manor house rising among its ancestral trees, or the faint misty smoke cloud that indicated some hamlet or small town. Save these, the landscape swept on unbroken, until it ended at the horizon in the high range of the Dishire Hills. Even to Captain Rothsay this scene seemed strangely beautiful. He contemplated it for some time, his hand still on the

Starting point is 03:27:11 unopened gate, and then he became aware that a lady, whose gardening dress and gardening implements showed she was occupied in her favorite evening employment, was looking at him with some curiosity. The traces of life's downward path are easier to recognize than those of its ascent. Though the mature womanhood of Allison Balfour had glided into age, Rothesay had no difficulty in discovering that he was in the presence of his former friend. Not so with her. He advanced, addressed her by name, and even took her hand, before she had the slightest idea that her guest was Angus Rothsay. Have you then so entirely forgotten me?

Starting point is 03:27:50 Forgotten the days in our native Perthshire when I was a bit laddie, and you, our guest, were Miss Alice in Balfour. There came a trembling over her features. I, aged woman as she was. But at her years, all the past, whether of joy or grief, becomes faint, else how would age be born? She extended both her hands with a warm friendliness. Welcome, Angus Rothsay.

Starting point is 03:28:15 No wonder I did not know you. These thirty years, is it not thus much, have changed you from a boy into a middle-aged man and made of me an old woman. She really was an elderly lady now. It seemed almost ridiculous to think of her as his youth's idol. Neither was she beautiful. How could he ever have imagined her so?

Starting point is 03:28:35 Her irregular features, unnoticed when the white and red tints of youth adorned them, were now in age, positively plain. Her strong-built frame had, in losing elasticity, lost much of grace, though dignity remained. Looking on Mrs. Gwynn for the first time, she appeared a large, rather plain woman. Looking again, it would be to observe the noble candor that dwelt in the eyes, and the sweetness, at times even playfulness, that hovered round the mouth. regarding her for the third time, you would see a woman whom you felt sure you must perforce respect, and might in time, love very much if she would let you. Of that gracious permission

Starting point is 03:29:16 you would long have considerable doubt, but once granted you would never unlove her to the end of your days. As for her loving you, you would not be quite clear that it did not spring from the generous benevolence of her nature rather than from any individual warmth toward yourself, and such was the reserve of her character, that were her affection ever so deep, she might possibly never let you know it until the day of your death. Yet she was capable of attachments, strong as her own nature. All her feelings, passions, energies were on a grand scale. In her were no petty feminine follies, no weak, narrow, illiberalities of judgment. She had the soul of a man and the heart of a woman. "'You were gardening, I see,' said Captain Rothsay.

Starting point is 03:30:02 making the first ordinary remark that came to his mind to break the awkward pause. "'Yes, I do so every fine evening. Herald is very fond of flowers. "'That reminds me I must call him to you at once, as it is Wednesday, service night, "'and he will be engaged in his duties soon. "'Pray, let us enter the house. I should much like to see your son,' said Angus Rothsay. "'He gave her his arm, and they walked together, "'through the green alleys of Holly to the front door. Then Mrs. Gwynn stopped, put her hand over her eyes for a moment, removed it, and looked

Starting point is 03:30:36 earnestly at her guest. Angus Roth say, how strange this seems, like a dream, a dream of thirty years. Well, let us go in. Mechanically, and yet in a subdued absent manner, she laid her bonnet and shawl on the hall table and took off her gardening gloves, thereby discovering hands which, though large, were white and well-formed, and in their round, taper delicacy, exhibited no sign of age. Captain Rothsay, without pausing to think, took the right hand. Ah, you wear still the ring I used to play with when a boy, I thought—' And recollecting himself he stopped, ashamed of his discourtesy in alluding to what must have been a painful past. But she said, quietly, sadly, you have a good memory. Yes, I wear it again

Starting point is 03:31:24 now. It was left to me ten years since on the death of Archibald MacLean. "'Strange that she could thus speak that name, "'but over how many a buried grief does the grass grow green in thirty years? "'In the hall they encountered a young man. "'Harold,' said Mrs. Gwynn, "'give welcome to an old, a very old friend of mine, "'Captain Angus Roth say, "'Angus, this is my son, my only son, Harold.'

Starting point is 03:31:50 "'And she looked upon him as a mother, "'widoed for twenty years looks upon an only son. "'Yet the pride was tempered with dignity, the affection was veiled under reserve. She, who doubtless would have sustained his life with her own heart's blood, had probably never since his boyhood suffered him to know a mother's passionate tenderness, or to behold a mother's tear. Perhaps that was the reason that Harold's whole manner was the reflection of her own, not that he was like her in person, for nature had to him been far more bountiful. But there was a certain rigidness and harshness in his mean, and a slightly repellent

Starting point is 03:32:25 atmosphere around him. Probably not one of the young lambs of his flock had ever dreamed of climbing the knee of the Reverend Harold Gwynne. Though he wore the clerical garb, he did not look at all apostle-like. He was neither a St. Paul nor a St. John. Yet a grand, noble head it was. It might have been sketched for that of a young philosopher, a Galileo or a priestly, with the heavy, strongly marked brows. The eyes, hackneyed as the description is, no one can paint a man without mentioning his eyes. Those of Harold Gwynne were not unlike his mothers, in their open, steadfast look, yet they were not soft like hers, but of steel-gray, diamond-clear. He carried his head very erect, and these eyes of his seemed as though unable to rest on the ground. They were

Starting point is 03:33:12 always turned upwards, with a gaze, not reverent or dreaming, but eager, inquiring, and piercing as truth itself. Such was the young man with whom Captain Rothsay shook hands, congratulating his old friend on having such a son. "'You are more fortunate than I,' he said. My marriage has only bestowed on me a daughter. Daughters are a great comfort sometimes,' answered Mrs. Gwynn, though for my part I never wished for one. The quick reproachful glance of Harold sought his mother's face,

Starting point is 03:33:43 and shortly afterwards he re-entered his study. "'My son thinks I meant to include a daughter-in-law,' was Mrs. Gwyn's remark, while the concealed playfulness about her mouth appeared. He is soon to bring me one. "'I know it, and know her, too. By this means I found you out. I should scarcely have imagined Sarah Derwent the girl for you to choose.' "'He chooses, not I. A mother, whose dutiful son has been her sole stay through life, has no right to interfere with what he deems his happiness,' said Allison gravely. And at that moment the young curate reappeared, ready for the duties to which

Starting point is 03:34:18 he was summoned by the sharp sound of the church-going bell. "'I will stay at home with Captain Rothsay,' observed Mrs. Gwynne. Her guest made a courteous disclaimer, which ended in something about religious duties. "'Hospitality is a duty, too. At least we thought so in the North,' she answered, "'and old friendship is ever somewhat of a religion with me. Therefore I will stay, Harold.' "'You are right, mother,' said Harold. "'But he would not that his mother had seen the smile which curled his lip as he passed along the hall and through the garden towards the churchyard. There it faded into a look, dark and yet mournful, which, as it turned from the dust beneath his feet to the stars overhead, and then back again to the graves, seems to ask despairingly, at once of

Starting point is 03:35:05 heaven and earth, for the solution of some inward mystery. While Harold preached, his mother and Captain Rothsay sat in the parsonage and talked of their olden days, now faint as a dream. The rising wind, which, sweeping over the wide champagne, came to moan in the hillside trees seemed to sing the dirge of that long-past life. Yet the heart of both, even of Angus Rothsay, throbbed to its memory, as a Scottish heart ever does to that of home and the mountain-land. Among other long-unspoken names came that of Miss Flora Rothsay. She is an old woman now, a few years older than I. Harold visits her not infrequently, and she and I correspond now and then, but we have not met for many years. Yet you have not forgotten her.

Starting point is 03:35:52 "'Do I ever forget?' said Allison, as she turned her face towards him. "'And looking thereon, he felt that such a woman never could. "'Their conversation, passing down the stream of time, "'touched on all that was memorable in the life of both. "'She mentioned her husband, but merely the two events, "'not long distant each from each, of their marriage and his death. "'Your son is not like yourself. "'Does he resemble Mr. Gwyn?' observed Roth say.

Starting point is 03:36:20 "'In person, yes, a little. in mind, no, a thousand times no. Then recollecting herself, she added, It was not likely. Mr. Gwynn has been dead so many years that my son, it was always my son, has no remembrance of his father. Alas, that there should be some whose memories are gladly suffered to perish with the falling of the earth above them.

Starting point is 03:36:43 A thought like this passed through the mind of Angus Rothsay. I fancy, said he, that I once met Mr. Gwynn. He was— husband. Mrs. Gwyn's tone suppressed all further remark, even all recollection of the contemptible image that was intruding on her guest's mind, an image of a young, roistering, fox-hunting fool. Rothsay looked on the widow, and the remembrance passed away, or became sacred as memory itself, and then the conversation glided as a mother's heart would fain direct it, to her only son. He was a strange creature ever, was my herald. In his childhood he always teased me with his why and

Starting point is 03:37:21 because, he would come to the root of everything, and would not believe anything that he could not quite understand. Gradually I began to glory in this peculiarity, for I saw it argued a mind far above the common order. Angus, you are a father. You may be happy in your child, but you never can understand the pride of a mother in an only son. While she talked, her countenance and manner brightened, and Captain Rothsay saw again,

Starting point is 03:37:47 not the serene, stern widow of Owen Gwyn, but the energetic impact. compassioned Alison Balfour. He told her this. Is it so? Strange. And yet I do but talk to you as I often did when we were young together. He begged her to continue. His heart warmed as it had not done for many a day, and, to lead the way, he asked what chance had caused the descendant of the Balfour's to become an English clergyman. From circumstances, when Harold was very young, and we two lived together in the poor Highland cottage where he was born, my boy made an acquaintance with an Englishman, one Lord Arredale, a great student. Harold longed to be a student too, a noble desire. I shared it too. When the thought came to me that my boy would be a great man, I nursed it,

Starting point is 03:38:34 cherished it, made it my whole life's aim. We were not rich. I had not married for money, and there was a faint show of pride in her lip. Yet Harold must go as he desired to an English University. I said in my heart, he shall, and he did. Angus looked at Mrs. Gwynn, and thought that a woman's will might sometimes be as strong and daring as a man's. Allison continued, My son had only half finished his education when fortune made the poor poorer. But Scotland and Cambridge, thank heaven, were far distant. I never told him one word. I lived. It matters little how. I cared not. Our fortune lasted, as I had calculated it would, till he had taken his degree, and left college rich in honors, and then—

Starting point is 03:39:20 She ceased, and the light in her countenance faded. Angus Rothsay gazed upon her as reverently as he had done upon the good angel of his boyish days. "'I said you were a noble woman, Alison Balfour. I was a mother, and I had a noble son.' They sat a long time silent, looking at the fire and listening to the wind. There was a momentary interruption, a message from the young clergyman to say that he was summoned some distance to visit a sick person. On such a stormy night as this, said Angus Rothsay.

Starting point is 03:39:51 Harold never fails in his duties, replied the mother with a smile, then turning abruptly to her guest. You will let me talk, old friend, and about him. I cannot often talk to him, for he is so reserved, that is so occupied with his clerical studies, but there never was a better son than my Harold. I am sure of it, said Captain Rothsay. The mother continued, Never shall I forget the triumph of his coming home from Cambridge.

Starting point is 03:40:18 Yet it brought a pang, too, for then first he had to learn the whole truth. Poor Harold! It pained me to see him so shocked and overwhelmed at the sight of our lowly roof and mean fare, and to know that even these would not last us long. But I said to him, my son, what signifies it, when you can soon bring your mother to your own home? For he, already a deacon, had had a curacy offered him, as soon as ever he chose to take pre-year. orders. Then he had already decided on entering the church. He had chosen that career in his youth. Towards it his whole education had tended. But, she added with a troubled look,

Starting point is 03:40:56 my old friend I may tell you one doubt which I never yet breathed to living soul. I think at this time there was a struggle in his mind. Perhaps his dreams of ambition rose higher than the simple destiny of a country clergyman. I hinted this to him, but he repelled me. Alas, he knew as well as I, that there was now no other path open for him. Mrs. Gwyn paused, and then went on, as though speaking more to herself than to her listener. The time came for Harold to decide. I did not wonder at his restlessness, for I knew how strong ambition must be in a man like him. God knows I would have worked, begged, starved rather than he should be thus tried. I told him so the day before his ordination, but he entreated me to be silent,

Starting point is 03:41:39 with a look such as I never saw on his face before, such as I trust in God, I may never see again. I heard him all night walking about his room, and the next morning he was gone ere I rose. When he came back, he seemed quite excited with joy, embraced me, told me I should never know poverty more, for that he was in priest's orders and we should go the next week to the curacy at Harbury. And he has never repented. I think not. He is not without the honors he desired, for his fame in science is extending far beyond his small parish. He fulfills his duties scrupulously, and the people respect him, though he sides with no party, high church or evangelical.

Starting point is 03:42:20 We abhor illiberality, my son and I. That is clear, otherwise I had never seen Alice and Balfour quitting the Kirk for the church. Angus Rothsay, said Mrs. Gwynn, with dignity, I have learned throughout a long life the lesson that trifling outward differences matter little. The spirit of religion is its true life. This lesson I have taught my son from his cradle, and where will you find a more sincere, moral, or pious man than Harold Gwynne? Where, indeed, mother, echoed a voice, as Harold opening the door caught her last words.

Starting point is 03:42:53 But come, no more of that, and thou lovest me. Harold! End of Chapter 15. Chapter 16 of Olive. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Olive, by Dinah Maria Crake. Captain Rothsay found himself at breakfast on the sixth morning of his stay at Harbury, so swiftly had the time flown, but he felt a purer and a happier man every hour that he spent

Starting point is 03:43:28 with his ancient friend. The breakfast room was Harold's study. It was more that of a man of science and learning than that of a clergyman. Beside Leighton and Flavel were placed bacon and Descartes. Dust lay upon John Newton's sermons, while close by, rested in honoured well-thumbed tatters, his great namesake, who read God's scriptures in the stars. In one corner by a large unopened packet, marked Religious Society's Tracts, it served as a stand for a large telescope whose clumsiness betrayed the ingenuity of home manufacture. The theological contents of the library was a vast mass of polemical literature, orthodox and heterodox, including all faiths, all variations of sect.

Starting point is 03:44:12 Muhammad and Swedenborg, Calvin and the Talmud, lay side by side, and on the farthest shelf was the great original of all creeds, the book of books. On this morning, as on most others, Harold Gwynne did not appear until after prayers were over. His mother read them, as indeed she always did morning and evening. A stranger might have said that her doing so was the last lingering token of her sway as head of the household. Harold entered, his countenance bearing the pallid, restless look of one who lies half-dreaming in bed long after he is awake and ought to have risen. His mother saw it. You are not right, Harold. I had far rather that you rose at six and studied till nine as formerly than that you should dream away the morning hours and come down

Starting point is 03:44:58 looking as you do now. Forgive me, but it is not good for you, my son. She often called him my son with a beautiful simplicity that reminded one of the Holy Hebrew mothers, of Rebecca or of Hannah. Harold looked for a moment disconcerted, not angry. Do not mind me, mother, I shall go back to study in good time. Let me do as I judge best. Certainly, was all the mother's reply. She reproved, she never scolded. Turning the conversation, she directed hers to Captain Rothsay,

Starting point is 03:45:29 while Harold ate his breakfast in silence, a habit not unusual with him. Immediately afterwards he rose and prepared to depart for the day. I need not apologize to Captain Rosh. "'he,' he said in his own straightforward manner, "'which was only saved from the imputation of bluntness "'by a certain manly dignity, "'and contrasted strongly with the reserved and courtly grace of his guest.

Starting point is 03:45:51 "'My pursuits can scarcely interest you, "'while I know, and you know, what pleasure my mother takes in your society. "'You will not stay away all this day, too, Harold. "'Surely that is a little too much to be required, even by Miss Derwent,' "'spoke the quick impulse of the mother's unconscious jealousy. "'But she repressed it at one. once, even before the sudden flush of anger awakened by her words had faded from Harold's brow.

Starting point is 03:46:16 "'Go, my son. Your mother never interferes either with your duties or your pleasures.' Harold took her hand, though with scarce less formality than he did that of Captain Rothsay, and in a few minutes they saw him gallop down the hill and across the open country, with a speed be seeming well the age of five-and-twenty and the season of a first love. Mrs. Gwyn looked after him with an intensity of feeling that in any other woman would have found vent in a tear, certainly a sigh. "'You are thinking of your son and his marriage,' said Angus.

Starting point is 03:46:47 "'That is not strange. It is a life crisis with all men, and it has come so suddenly. I scarcely know my herald of two months since in my herald now.' To work such results it must be an ardent love. Say rather a vehement passion. Love does not spring up in flower like my hyacinths there, in six weeks. But I do not complain. Reason, if not feeling, tells me that a mother cannot be all in all to a young man. Harold needs a wife, let him take one. They will be married soon, and if all Sarah's qualities equal her beauty, this wild passion will soon mature into affection. He may be happy. I trust so. But does the girl love him?

Starting point is 03:47:28 Of course, spoke the quick-rising maternal pride, but she almost smiled at it herself, and added, really you must excuse these speeches of mine. I talk to you as I never do to anyone else, but it is all for the sake of olden times. This has been a happy week to me. You must pay us another visit soon. I will. And you must take a journey to my home and learn to know my wife and olive, said Roth say. The influence of Alison Gwynne was unconsciously strengthening him, and though from some inexplicable feeling he had spoken but little of his wife and child, there were growing up in his mind many schemes, the chief of which were connected with Olive.

Starting point is 03:48:06 But he now thought less of her appearing in the world as Captain Rothesay's heiress than of her being placed within the shadow of Alice and Gwynn, and so reflecting back upon her father's age that benign influence which had been the blessing of his youth. He went on to tell Mrs. Gwynne more of his affairs and of his plans than he had communicated to anyone for many a long year. In the midst of their conversation came the visitation, always so important in remorse. remote country districts, the every other day's post. "'For you, not me, I have few correspondence, so I will go to my duties while you attend to yours,' said Mrs. Gwynne, and departed. When she came in again, Captain Rothesay was pacing the room uneasily.

Starting point is 03:48:48 "'No ill news, I hope.' "'No, my kind friend, not exactly ill news, though vexatious enough, but why should I trouble you with them?' "'Nothing ever troubles me that can be of use to my friends. I ask no unwelcome confidence. If it is any relief to you to speak I will gladly hear. It is sometimes good for a man to have a woman to talk to. It is, it is.

Starting point is 03:49:12 And his heart opening itself more and more he told her of his cause of annoyance. A most important mercantile venture would be lost to him, for want of what he called a few paltry hundreds to be forthcoming on the morrow. If it had been a fortnight, just till my next ship is due, or even one week to give me time to make some arrangement. But where is the use of complaining? It is too late. Not quite, said Alison Gwynn, looking up after a few moments of deep thought, and with a

Starting point is 03:49:39 clearness which would have gained for her the repute of a thorough woman of business, she questioned Captain Rothsay, until she drew from him a possible way of obviating his difficulty. If, as you say I were in London now, where my banker or some business friend would take up a bill for me, but that is impossible. "'Nay, why say that you have friends only in London?' replied Allison, with a gentle smile. "'That is rather too unjust, Angus Rothsay. Our Highland clanship is not so clean forgotten, I hope. Come, old friend, it will be hard if I cannot do something for you. And Harold, who loves Flora Rothsay

Starting point is 03:50:14 almost as much as he loves me, would gladly aid her kinsman.' "'How? How! Nay, but I will never consent,' cried Angus, with a resoluteness through which his first eager sense of relief was clearly discernible. Truly there was coming upon him, with this mania of speculation, the same desperation which causes the gambler to clutch money from the starving hands of those who even yet are passionately dear. "'You shall consent, friend,' answered Mrs. Gwynn composedly. "'Why should you not? It is a mere form, an obligation of a week at most.

Starting point is 03:50:47 You will accept that for the sake of Alison Balfour.' He clasped her hand with a small of a subpoena. much emotion as was in his nature to show. She continued, "'Well, we will talk of this again when Harold comes into dinner. But positively I see him returning. There he is dashing up the hill. I hope nothing is the matter.

Starting point is 03:51:05 Yet she did not quit the room to meet him, but sat apparently quiet, though her hands were slightly trembling until her son came in. In answer to her question he said, "'No, no, nothing amiss. Only Mr. Floodier would have me go to the hall to see his new horses, and there I found.' "'Sarah,' interrupted the mother. "'Well, perhaps she thought it would be a pleasant change "'from the dullness of Waterton during your absence,

Starting point is 03:51:29 "'so never mind.' "'He did mind. "'He restlessly paced the room, "'angry with his mother, himself, with the whole world. "'Mrs. Gwyn might well notice "'how this sudden passion had changed his nature. "'A moralist, looking on the knotted brow, "'would have smiled to see,

Starting point is 03:51:45 "'not for the first time. "'A wise man making of himself a slave, "'nay a very fool for the enchantments of a beautiful. woman. His mother took his arm and walked with him up and down the room, without talking to him at all. But her firm step and firm clasp seemed to soothe, almost force him into composure. She had over him at once a mother's influence and a father's control. Meanwhile, Captain Rothsay busied, or seemed to busy himself with his numerous letters, and very wisely kept nearly out of sight. As soon as her son appeared a little recovered from

Starting point is 03:52:17 his vexation, Mrs. Gwynne said, "'Now, Harold, if you are quite willing, I want to talk to you for a few minutes. Shall it be now or this evening?' "'This evening I shall ride over to Waterton.' "'What, not one evening to spare for your mother, or—' She corrected herself. "'For your beloved books?' He moved restlessly.

Starting point is 03:52:37 "'Nay, I have had enough of study. I must have interest, amusement, excitement. I think I have drunk all the world's pleasures dry except this one. Mother, don't keep it from me. I know no rest except I am beside Sarah. He rarely spoke to her so freely, and despite her pain the mother was touched. Go then, go to Sarah, and the matter I wish to speak upon we will discuss now. He sat down and listened, though often only with his outward ears to her plan,

Starting point is 03:53:05 by which Captain Rothsay might be saved from his difficulty. It is a merely nominal thing. I would do it myself, but a man's name would be more useful than a woman's. Yours will. My son Harold will at once perform such a trifling act of kindness for his mother's friend. Of course, of course, come, mother, tell me what to do, you understand business affairs much better than your son, said Harold, as he rose to seek his guest. Captain Rothsay scrupled a while longer, but at length the dazzling vision of coming wealth absorbed both pride and reluctance.

Starting point is 03:53:37 It would be so hard to miss the chance of thousands by objecting to a mere form. Besides, Harold Gwynn shall share my success, he thought, and he formed many schemes for changing the comparative poverty of the parsonage into comfort and luxury. It was only when the pen was in the young man's hand, ready to sign the paper, that the faintest misgiving crossed Rothesay's mind. "'Stay, it is but for a few days, yet life sometimes ends in an hour. What if I should die at once before I can requite you? Mr. Gwynn, you shall not do it.' "'He shall, I mean he will,' answered the mother. "'But not until I have secured him in some way.' "'Nay, Angus, we all to should not thus bargain away our friendship, said Mrs. Gwynne with wounded pride,

Starting point is 03:54:22 Highland Pride. And besides, there is no time to lose. Here is the acceptance ready. So, Harold, sign. Herald did sign. The instant after, glad to escape, he quitted the room. Angus Rothesay sank on a chair with a heart-deep sigh of relief. It was done now. He eyed with thankfulness the paper which had secured him the golden prize. It is but a trifle, a sum not worth naming, he muttered to himself, and so indeed it seemed to one who had turned over thousands like mere heaps of dust. He never thought that it was an amount equal to Harold's yearly income, for which the young man had thus become bound. Yet he omitted not again and again to thank Mrs. Gwyn, and with excited eagerness to point to all the prospects now before him.

Starting point is 03:55:06 And besides, you cannot think from what you have saved me, the annoyance, the shame of breaking my word. Oh, my friend, you know not in what a whirling, restless world of commerce I live. To fail in anything, or to be thought to fail, would positively ruin me and drive me mad. Angus, old companion, answered Mrs. Gwynn, regarding him earnestly. You must not blame me if I speak plainly. In one week I have seen far into your heart, farther than you think. Be advised by me. Change this life for one more calm. Home and its blessings never come too late. You are right, said Angus. I sometimes think that all is not well with me. I am growing old, and business racks my head sadly sometimes.

Starting point is 03:55:49 Feel it now. He carried to his brow her hand, the hand which had led him when a boy, which in his fantastic dream of youth he had many a time kissed. Even now when the pulses were grown leaden with age, it felt cool, calm, like the touch of some pitying and protecting angel. Alison Gwynne said gently,

Starting point is 03:56:08 "'My friend, you say truly all is not well with you. Let us put aside all business and walk in the garden. Come.' Captain Rothsay lingered at Harbury yet one day more, but he could not stay longer, for this important business venture made him restless. Besides, Harold's wedding was near at hand. In less than a week the mother would be sole regent of her son's home no more. No wonder that this made her grave and anxious, so that even her old friend's presence was a slight

Starting point is 03:56:35 restraint. Yet she bade him adieu with her own cordial sincerity. He began to pour out thanks for all kindness, especially the one kindness of all, adding, but I will say no more. You shall see or hear from me in a few days at farthest. Not until after the wedding. I can think of nothing till after the wedding, answered Mrs. Gwynn. Now farewell, friend, but not for another thirty years I trust. No, no, cried Angus warmly. He looked at her as she sat by the light of her own hearth. Life's trials conquered, life's duties fulfilled. And she appeared not less divine a creature than the Allison Balfour,

Starting point is 03:57:12 who had trod the mountains full of joy and hope and energy. Holy and beautiful she had seemed to him in her youth, and though every relic of that passionate idealization he once called love was gone, still holy and beautiful she seemed to him in her age. Angus Rothsay rode away from Harbury Parsonage, feeling that there he had gained a new interest to make life and life's duties more sacred. He thought with tenderness of his home, of his wife and of his little olive, and then, traveling by a rather surrogens.

Starting point is 03:57:42 Cuitous Root, his thoughts rested on Harold Gwynne. The kind-hearted, generous fellow, I will take care he is requited double. And to-morrow, before even I reach old church, I will go to my lawyers and make all safe on his account. Tomorrow. He remembered not the warning. Boast not thyself of tomorrow. End of Chapter 16.

Starting point is 03:58:11 Chapter 17 of Olive. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dinah Maria Crake Chapter 17 Olive sat mournfully contemplating Sarah Durwin's last letter, the last she knew it would be. It was written, not with the frank simplicity of their girlish confidence, but with the formal dignity of one who the next day would become a bride. It spoke of no regret, no remorse for her violated troth. It mentioned her former promise in a cold, business-like manner, without inferring any

Starting point is 03:58:46 changed love, but merely stating her friend's opinion on the evil of long engagements, and that she would be much better married at once to Mr. Gwynn than waiting some ten years for Charles Gettys. But to Olive, this change seemed a positive sin. She shuddered to think of Sarah's wicked faithlessness. She wept with pity, remembering poor Charles. The sense of wrong, as well as of misery, had entered her world at once. Her idols were crumbling into dust. Life grew painful, and a morbid bitterness was settling on her mind. She read the account that Sarah had somewhat boastfully written, of her prospects, her pretty home and of her lover's devotion to her.

Starting point is 03:59:29 This clever man, this noble man, as people call him and most of all his mother, I could wind him round my little finger. What think you, Olive, is not that something to be married for? You ask if I am happy. Yes, certainly, happier than you can imagine. That is true indeed, murmured Olive, and there came upon her a bitter sense of the inequalities of life. It seemed that heaven to some gave all things, to others nothing. But she hushed the complainings, for they seemed impious.

Starting point is 03:59:59 Upon her was the influence of the faith she had been taught by Elsby, which though in the old Scotswoman it became all the mystic horrors of Calvinism, yet in Olive's gentler and higher nature, had worked out blessing instead of harm. For it was a faith that taught the peace of resticester. childlike beneath the shadow of that omnipotent will, which holds every tangled threat of fate within one mighty hand, which rules all things, and rules them continually for good. While thinking thus, olive was sitting in her bower. It was a garden seat, placed under the thorn tree, and shut out from sight of the house by an espalier of apple trees. Not very romantic, certainly, but a most pleasant

Starting point is 04:00:38 spot, with the sound of the shallow river gliding by, and of many a bird that sang madrigals in the meadows opposite. And Olive, as she sat with her hands crossed on her knee, her bending head and pensive eyes outgazing, added no little to the scene. Many a beauty might have coveted the meek yet heavenly look, which threw sweetness over the pale features of the deformed girl. Olive, sitting with her eyes cast down, was some time before she became unconscious that she was watched, long and earnestly but by an innocent watcher, her little night as he had dubbed himself, Lyle Derwent. His face looked out from the ivy leaves at the top of the wall. Soon he had leaped down and was kneeling at her feet, just like a young lover in a

Starting point is 04:01:21 romance. Smiling, she told him so, for in truth she made a great pet of the child, whose delicate beauty pleased her artist eye, while his gentleness won her affection. "'Well, and I will be your lover, Miss Olive, said he stoutly, for I love you very much indeed. I should so like to kiss you, may I? She stooped down, moved almost to tears. Why are you always so sad? Why do you never laugh like Sarah or the other young ladies we know? Because I am not like Sarah, or like any other girl. Ah, Lyle, all is very different with me, but my little knight this can scarcely be understood by one so young as you. Though I am a little boy I know thus much, that I love you, and think you more beautiful than anybody else in the world! And speaking rather loudly and energetically, he was answered

Starting point is 04:02:12 by a burst of derisive laughter from behind the wall. Olive crimsoned, it was one more of those passing wounds which her sensitive nature now continually received. Was even a child's love for her deemed so unnatural, and that it should be mocked at thus cruelly? Lyle, with a quickness beyond his years, seemed to have divined her thoughts, and his gentle temper was roused into passion. "'I will kill Bob, I will! Never mind him, sweet, dear, beautiful, Miss Rothsay. I love you, and I hate him!' "'Hush, Lyle, hush! That is wrong!' And then she was silent. The little boy stood by her side, his face still burning with indignation. Soon Olive's trouble subsided. She whispered to herself, "'It must be always thus. I will try to be so. I will try to

Starting point is 04:02:59 Barrett. And then she became composed. She bade her little friend a Jew, telling him she was going back into the house. "'But you will forgive all. You will not think of anything that would grieve you,' said Lyle, hesitatingly. Olive promised with a patient smile. "'And to prove this, will you kiss your little knight once again?' Her soft drooping hair swept his cheek. Her lips touched his. Lyle Durwent never forgot this kiss of Olive Rothsay's. The young girl entered the house. Within it was the quiet of Sunday afternoon. Her mother had gone to a distant church, and there was none left to keep house, save one of the maids and the old grey cat that dozed on the window-sill in the sunshine.

Starting point is 04:03:41 The cat was a great pet of olives, and the moment it saw its young mistress it was purring round her feet, following her from room to room, never resting until she took it up in her arms. The love even of a dumb animal touched her then. She sat down on her own little low chair, spread on her lap the smooth white apron which Miss Pussy loved, and so she leaned back, soothed by the monotonous song of her purring favorite, and thinking that there was at least one living creature who loved her and whom she could make perfectly happy. She sat at the open window, seeing only the high green privet hedge that enclosed

Starting point is 04:04:15 the front garden, the little wicket gate, and the blue sky beyond. How still everything was! By degrees the footsteps of a few late churchgoers vanished along the road. The bells ceased. first the quick, sharp clang of the new church, and then the musical peal that rang out from the Grey Norman Tower. There never were such bells as those of Old Church, but they melted away in silence, and then the dreamy quietness of the hour stole over Olive's sense. She thought of many things, things which might have been sad, but for the slumberous peace that took away all pain.

Starting point is 04:04:49 It was just the hour when she once used to sit on the floor, leaning against Elsby's knees, generally reading aloud in the book which alone the nurse permitted on Sundays. Now and then, once in particular she remembered, old Elsby fell asleep, and then Olive turned to her favorite study, the Book of Revelations. Childlike she terrified herself over the mysterious prophecies of the latter days, until at last she forgot the gloom and horror in reading of the beautiful city, New Jerusalem. She seemed to see it. It's twelve gates, angel-guarded, its crystal river, its many-fruited tree,

Starting point is 04:05:23 the tree of life. Her young but glowing fancy created out of these marvels a visible, material paradise. She knew not that heaven is only the continual presence of the eternal. Yet she was happy, and in her dreams she never pictured the land beyond the grave but there came back to her, as though the nearest foreshadowing of it, the visions of that Sunday afternoon. She sat a long time thinking of them, and of herself, how much older she felt since then, and how many troubles she had passed through. Troubles, poor child, how little knew she those of the world. But even her own small burden seemed lighten now. She leaned her head against the window, listening to the bees humming in the garden, bees daring Sunday workers, and even they seemed to toil with a kind

Starting point is 04:06:08 of sabbatic solemnity. And then, turning her face upwards, Olive watched many a fair white butterfly, that, having flitted a while among the flowers, spread its wings and rose far into the air, soul weary of earth and floating heavenward. How she wished that she could do likewise, and leaving earth behind, its flowers as well as weeds, its sunshine as its storm, soar into another and a higher existence. Not yet, Olive, not yet. None received the gherden, save those who have won the goal. A pause in the girl's reverie, caused by a light sound that broke the perfect quietness around. She listened. It was the rumbling of carriage wheels along the road, a rare circumstance, for the people of old church, if not individually devout, lived in a devout

Starting point is 04:06:56 atmosphere, which made pleasure drives on the day of rest not respectable. A momentary hope struck Olive that it might be her father returning home, but he was a strict man, he never traveled on Sundays. Nevertheless, Olive listened mechanically to the wheels, they dashed rapidly on, came near, stopped. Yes, it must be her father. She flew to the hall door to welcome him. There stood, not her father, but a little hard-featured old man, Mr. Wilde, the family lawyer. Olive drew back sorely disappointed, for if in her gentle heart lingered one positive aversion it was felt towards this man, partly on his own account, partly because his appearance seemed always the forewarning of evil in the little household.

Starting point is 04:07:39 He never came but at his departure Captain Rothsay wore a frowning brow, and indulged in a hasty temper for days and days. No marvel was there in Olive's dislike, yet she regained. regretted having shown it. Mr. Wilde, I thought it was my father. I am sorry that he is not at home to receive you. Nay, I did not come to see Captain Rothsay, answered the lawyer, betraying some confusion and hesitation beneath his usual smooth manner.

Starting point is 04:08:05 The fact is, my dear young lady, I bring a letter for your mother. From papa, cried Olive eagerly. No, not exactly. That is—but can I see Mrs. Rothsay? She is at church. She will be at home in half an hour. probably. Will you wait?' He shook his head. "'Nay, there is nothing wrong. Don't alarm yourself, my dear.'

Starting point is 04:08:27 Olive shrank from the touch of his hand as he led her into the parlor. "'Your papa is at my house. But I think, Miss Rothsay, as your mother is not home, you had better read the letter yourself.' She took it. Slowly, silently, she read it through twice, for the words seemed to dazzle and blaze before her eyes. Then she looked up helplessly. I—I cannot understand. I thought the doctor wrote plainly enough and broke the matter cautiously, too, muttered Mr. Wilde, adding aloud, upon my honor, my dear, I assure you your father is alive. Alive! Oh, my poor father! And then she sank down slowly where she stood, as if pressed by some heavy, invisible hand. Mr. Wilde thought she had fainted, but it was not so. In another

Starting point is 04:09:15 moment she stood before him, nerved by this great woe to a firmness which was awful in its rigid composure. "'I can listen now. Tell me everything.' He told her in a few words how Captain Rothsay had come to his house the night before, and, while waiting his return, had taken up the newspaper. Suddenly, my Clark said, he let it fall with a cry, and was immediately seized with the fit from which he has not yet recovered.

Starting point is 04:09:41 There is hope, the doctor thinks, but in case of the worst you must come to him at once. yes yes at once she rose and walked to the door guiding herself by the wall nay miss rothsay what are you doing you forget we cannot go without your mother my mother oh heaven it will kill my mother and the thought brought tears the first that had burst from her it was well she recovered to consciousness and strength in this great crisis there came to her the wisdom and forethought that lay dormant in her nature she became a woman one of those of her whom the world contains few, at once gentle and strong, meek and fearless, patient to endure, heroic to act. She sat down for a moment and considered. Fourteen miles it is to be. If we start in an hour we shall reach there by sunset. Then she summoned the maid, and said, speaking steadily, that she might by no sign betray what might in turn be betrayed to her mother. You must go and meet Mama as she comes from church, or if not go into the church to her. Tell her there is a

Starting point is 04:10:45 message come from papa and ask her to hasten home. Make haste yourself. I will keep house the while." The woman left the room, murmuring a little, but never thinking to disobey her young mistress, so sudden, so constraining, was the dignity which had come upon the girl. Even Mr. Wilde felt it, and his manner changed from condolence to respect. What can I do, Miss Rothsay? You turn from me. No wonder when I have had the misfortune to be the bearer of such evil tidings. "'Hush,' she said. Mechanically she set wine before him. He drank, talking between the drafts of his deep sorrow,

Starting point is 04:11:21 and earnest hope that no serious evil would befall his good friend, Captain Rothsay. Olive could endure no more. She fled away, shut herself up in her own room and fell on her knees, but no words came save the bitter cry, "'Oh, God, have pity on us!' And there was no time, not even to pray, except within her heart. She pressed her hands on her brow, and once more thought what she had to do. At that moment, through the quietness of the house, she heard the clock striking four.

Starting point is 04:11:51 Never had time's passing seemed so awful. The day was fleeting on whose every moment perhaps hung a life. Something she must do, or her senses would have failed. She thought of little things that might be needed when they reached her father, went into Mrs. Rothsay's room and put up some clothes and necessaries, in case they stayed more than one day at be, A large warm shawl, too, for her mother might have to sit up all night. In these trifling arrangements what a horrible reality there was, and yet she scarcely felt it.

Starting point is 04:12:20 She was half stunned still. It was past four and Mrs. Rothsay had not come. Every minute seemed in eternity. Olive walked to the window and looked out. There was the same cheerful sunshine, the bees humming and the butterflies flitting about, in the sweet stillness of the Sabbath afternoon as she had watched them an hour ago. one little hour to have brought into her world such utter misery. She thought of it all, dwelling vividly on every accompaniment of woe,

Starting point is 04:12:48 even as she remembered to have done when she first learned that Elspie would die. She pictured her mother's coming home, and almost fancied she could see her now walking across the fields. But no, it was someone in a white dress strolling by the hedgerows side, and Mrs. Rothsay that day wore blue, her favorite pale blue muslin in which she looked so lovely. She had gone out, laughing at her daughter for saying this. What if Olive should never see her in that pretty dress again? All these fancies and more clung to the girl's mind with a horrible personacity.

Starting point is 04:13:19 And then, through the silence, she heard the old church bells awaking again, in the dull minute-peel which told that service-time was ended, and the afternoon funerals were taking place. Olive, shuddering, closed her ears against the sound, and then, gazing out once more, she saw her mother stand at the gate. Mrs. Rothsay looked up at the window and smiled. Olive had never thought of that worst pang of all, how she should break the news to her mother,

Starting point is 04:13:46 her timid, delicate mother, whose feeble frame quivered beneath the lightest breath of suffering. Scarcely knowing what she did, she flew downstairs. "'Not there, Mama, not there!' she cried, as Mrs. Rothesay was about to enter the parlor. Olive drew her into another room and made her sit down. "'What is all this, my dear? Why do you look so strange?

Starting point is 04:14:06 Is not your papa come home? Let us go to him. We will. We will, but Mama! One moment she looked speechlessly in Mrs. Rothsay's face, and then fell on her neck, crying, "'I can't! I can't keep it from you any longer.

Starting point is 04:14:20 Oh, Mother! Mother, there is great trouble come upon us. We must be patient. We must bear it together. God will help us!' "'Aulve!' The shrill terror of Mrs. Rothsey's voice rung through the room. "'Hush!

Starting point is 04:14:34 We must be quiet, very quiet. "'Papa is dangerously ill at B, and we must start at once. "'I have arranged all. "'Come, Mama, dearest!' "'But her mother had fainted. "'There was no time to lose. "'Aulive snatched some restoratives, "'and then made ready to depart.

Starting point is 04:14:51 "'Mrs. Rothsay, still insensible, was lifted into the carriage. "'She lay there for some time quite motionless, "'supported in her daughter's arms, "'to which never had she owed support before. "'As Olive looked down upon her, "'stranged new feelings came into, the girl's heart. Filial tenderness seemed transmuted into a devotion passing the love of child to mother, and mingled therewith was a sense of protection, of watchful guardianship.

Starting point is 04:15:17 She thought, What if my father should die, and we too should be left alone in the world? Then she will have none to look to save me, and I will be to her in the stead of all. Once I think she loved me very little, but, oh, mother, dearly we love one another now. When Mrs. Rothsay's senses returned, she lifted her head with a bewildered air. "'Where are we going? What has happened? I can't think clearly of anything. Dearest, Mama, do not try. I will think for us both. Be content. You are quite safe with your own daughter. My daughter. Ah, I remember. I fainted as I did long years ago when they told me something about my daughter. Are you she? That little child whom I cast from my arms? And now I am lying in yours,

Starting point is 04:16:02 she cried, her mind seeming to wander as if distraught by this sudden shock. Hush, Mama, don't talk. Rest quiet here. Mrs. Rothsay looked wistfully into her daughter's face, and there seemed to cross her mind some remembered sense of what had befallen. She clung helplessly to those sustaining arms. Take care of me, Olive. I do not deserve it, but take care of me.

Starting point is 04:16:26 I will, until death was Olive's inward vow. And so, traveling fast but in sight. solemn silence they came to be. Alas, it was already too late. By Angus Rothsay's bed they stood, the widow and the fatherless. End of Chapter 17. Chapter 18 of Olive. This Librovoc's recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dinah Maria Crake, Chapter 18. The tomb had scarcely closed over Captain Rothsay when it was discovered that his affairs were in a state of irretrievable confusion. For months he must have lived with ruin, staring him

Starting point is 04:17:12 in the face. His sudden death was then no mystery. The newspaper had startled him with tidings, partly false as afterwards appeared, of a heavy disaster by sea, and the failure of his latest speculation at home. There seemed lifted against him at once the hand of heaven and of man. His proud nature could not withstand the shock, shame smote him, and he died. "'Tell me only one thing,' cried Olive to Mr. Wilde, with whom after the funeral she was holding conference, she only, for her mother was incapable of acting, and this girl of sixteen was the sole ruler of the household now. Tell me only that my father died unblemished in honor, that there are none to share misfortune with us, and to curse the memory of the ruined merchant.

Starting point is 04:17:58 "'I know of none,' answered Mr. Wilde. "'True, there are still remaining many private debts, but they may be easily paid, and he cast a meaning glance round the luxuriously furnished room. I understand, it shall be done, said Olive. Misery had made her very wise, very quick to comprehend. Without shrinking she talked over every matter connected with that saddest thing, a deceased bankrupt sale. The lawyer was a hard man, and Olive's prejudice against him was not unfounded. Still the most stony heart has often a little softness buried deep at its core. Mr. Wilde looked with curiosity, even with kindness, on the young creature who sat opposite to him, in the dim lamplight of the silent room, once Captain Rothsay's study.

Starting point is 04:18:44 Her cheek, ever delicate, was now of a dull white. Her pale gold hair fell neglected over her black dress. Her hand supported her care-marked brow as she poured over dusty papers, pausing at times to speak, in a quiet, sensible, subdued manner, of things fit only for old heads and worn hearts. Mr. Wilde thought of his own merry daughters, whom he had left at home, and felt a vague thankfulness that they were not, as alabrothsay. Tenderness was not in his nature, but in all his intercourse with her he could not help

Starting point is 04:19:16 treating with a sort of reverence the dead merchants forlorn childs. When they had finished their conversation he said, "'There is one matter, painful too, upon which I ought to speak to you. I should have done so before, but I did not know it myself until yesterday.' "'No what? Is there more trouble coming?" answered Olive, sighing bitterly. But tell me all. All is very little.

Starting point is 04:19:40 You know, my dear Miss Rothsay, that your father was speechless from the moment of his seizure, but my wife, who never quitted him. Ah, I assure you she was a devoted nurse to him, was Mrs. Wilde. I thank her deeply as she knows. My wife has just told me that a few minutes before his death your poor father's consciousness returned, that he seemed struggling in vain to speak. At last she placed a pencil in his hand, and he wrote, One word only, in the act of writing which he died.

Starting point is 04:20:09 Forgive me, my dear young lady, for thus agitating you, but—' The paper! Give me the paper! Mr. Wilde pulled out his pocket-book, and produced a torn and blotted scrap, whereon was written in characters scarcely legible, the name, Harold. Do you know anyone who bears that name, Miss Rothsay? No. Yes, one, added she, suddenly remembering that.

Starting point is 04:20:33 the name of Sarah's husband was Harold Gwynne. But between him and her father she knew of no single tie. It must be a mere chance coincidence. "'What is to be done?' cried Olive. "'Shall I tell my mother?' "'If I might advise I would say decisively no. Better leave the matter in my hands.' "'Herald, tis a boy's name,' he added, meditatively. "'If it were a girl's now, I executed a little commission for Captain Rothsay once.' "'What did you say?' asked Olive, looking up at him with her innocent eyes. He could not meet them. His own fell confused. What did I say, Miss Rothsay? Oh, nothing, nothing at all, only that if I had a commission to to hunt out this secret—I thank you, Mr. Wilde, but a daughter would not willingly employ

Starting point is 04:21:20 any third person to hunt out her father's secret. His papers will doubtless inform me of everything, therefore we will speak no more on this subject. As you will. He gathered up his blue bag and its voluminous contents and made his a Jew. But Olive had scarcely set down again, and with her head leaning on her father's desk, had given vent to a sigh of relief, in that she was freed from Mr. Wilde's presence, when the old lawyer again appeared. Miss Rothsay, I merely wish to say, if ever you find out, any secret, or need any advice about that paper or anything else, I'm the man to give it, and with pleasure in this case, good evening. Olive thanked him coldly, somewhat proudly for what she thought a piece of unnecessary impertinence.

Starting point is 04:22:03 However, it quickly passed from her gentle mind, and then, as the best way to soothe all her troubles, she quitted the study and sought her mother. Of Mrs. Rothsay's affliction we have as yet, said little, many and various are earth's griefs, but there must be an awful individuality in the stroke which severs the closest human tie, that between two whom marriage had made one flesh,

Starting point is 04:22:26 and though in this case coldness had loosened the sacred tie, still no power could utterly divide it while life endured. Angus Rothsay's widow remembered that she had once been the loved and loving bride of his youth. As such, she mourned him, nor was her grief without that keenest sting, the memory of unatoned wrong. From the dim shores of the past arose ghosts that nothing could ever lay because death's river ran eternally between. Sibylla Rothsay was one of those women whom no force of circumstances can ever teach

Starting point is 04:22:57 self-dependence or command. She had looked entirely to her husband for guidance and control, and now for both she looked to her child. From the moment of Captain Rothsay's death, Olive seemed to rule in his stead, or rather the parent and child seemed to change places. Olive watched, guided, and guarded the passive, yielding, sorrow-stricken woman, as with a mother's care, while Mrs. Rothsay trusted implicitly in all things to her daughter's stronger mind, and was never troubled by thinking or acting for herself in any one thing. This may seem a new picture of the maternal and filial bond, but it is frequently true.

Starting point is 04:23:35 If we look around on those daughters who have best fulfilled the holy duty, without which no life is or can be blessed, are they not women firm, steadfast, able to will and to act, could not many of them say, I am a mother unto my mother, I, the strongest now, take her in her feeble age like a child to my bosom. shield her, cherish her, and am to her all in all. And so in heart resolved all of Rothsay.

Starting point is 04:24:02 She had made that vow when her mother lay insensible in her arms. She kept it faithfully, until eternity, closing between them, sealed it with that best of earth's blessings, the blessing that falls on a dutious daughter whose mother is with God. When Captain Rothsay's affairs were settled, the sole wreck of his wealth that remained to his widow and child was the small settlement from Mrs. Rothsay's fortune, on which she had lived at Sterling, so they were not left in actual poverty.

Starting point is 04:24:30 Still Olive and her mother were poor, poor enough to make them desire to leave, prying, gossiping old church, and settle in the solitude of some great town. "'There,' said Olive to herself, "'I shall surely find means to work for her, that she may not have merely necessaries but comforts.' And many a night, during the few weeks that elapsed before their home was broken up, She lay awake by her sleeping mother's side, planning all sorts of schemes, arranging everything, so that Mrs. Rothsay might not be annoyed with arguings or consultations. When all was matured, she had only to say,

Starting point is 04:25:04 "'Dearest mother, should we not be very happy living together in London?' And scarcely had Mrs. Rothsay assented, then she found everything arranged itself as under an invisible fairy hand, so that she had but to ask, "'My child, when shall we go?' The time of departure at last arrived. It was the night but one before the sale. Olive persuaded her mother to go to rest early,

Starting point is 04:25:27 for she herself had a trying duty to perform, the examining of her father's private papers. As she sat in his study, in solitude and gloom, the young girl might have been forgiven many a pang of grief, even a shudder of superstitious fear, but Heaven had given her a hero soul, not the less heroic because it was a woman's. Her father's business paper she had already examined. These were only his private memoranda.

Starting point is 04:25:53 But they were few. Captain Rothsay's thoughts never found vent in words. There were no data of any kind to mark the history of a life, which was almost as unknown to his wife and daughter as to any stranger. Of letters she found very few. He was not a man who loved correspondence. Only among these few she was touched deeply to see some, dated years back at Sterling. Olive opened, one of them. The delicate hand was that of her mother when she was young. Olive only glanced at the top of the page, where still smiled from the worn yellow paper, the words, My dearest, dearest Angus, and then, too right-minded to penetrate further, folded it up again. Yet she felt glad. She thought it would comfort her mother to know how carefully he had kept

Starting point is 04:26:38 these letters. Soon after she found a memento of herself, a little curl, wrapped in silver paper and marked with his own hand, Olive's hair. Her father had loved her then, aye, and more deeply than she knew. The chief thing which troubled Olive was the sight of the paper on which her father's dying hand had scrawled Harold. No date of any kind had been found

Starting point is 04:26:59 to explain the mystery. She determined to think of the matter no more, but to put the paper by in a secret drawer. In doing so, she found a small packet, carefully tied and sealed. She was about to open it, when the superscription caught her eye. Thereon she read her father's written desire that it should after his death be burnt unopened.

Starting point is 04:27:20 His faithful daughter, without pausing to think, threw the packet on the fire, even turning aside lest the flames, while destroying, should reveal anything of the secret. Only once, forgetting herself, the crackling fire made her start and turn, and she caught a momentary glimpse of some curious foreign ornament. While near it, twisted in the flame into almost lifelike motion, was what seemed a long lock of black hair. But she could be certain of nothing. She hated herself for even that involuntary glance. It seemed an insult to the dead. Still more did these remorseful feelings awake, when her task being almost done, she found one letter addressed thus.

Starting point is 04:28:01 For my daughter, Olive, not to be opened till her mother is dead and she is alone in the world. Alone in the world! His fatherly tenderness had looked forward then, even to that bitter time. Far off, she prayed God, when she would be alone, a woman no longer young, without parents, husband, or child, or smiling home. She doubted not that her father had written this letter to counsel and comfort her at such a season of desolation, years after he was in the dust. His daughter blessed him for it, and her tender tears fell upon words which he had written, as she saw by the date outside, on that night, the last he ever spent at home. She never thought of breaking his injunction, or of opening the letter before the time, and after considering

Starting point is 04:28:47 deeply, she decided that it was too sacred even for the ear of her mother, to whom it would only give pain. Therefore she placed it in the private drawer of her father's desk, now her own, to wait until time should bring about the revealing of this solemn secret between her and the dead. Then she went to bed, wearied and worn, and creeping close to her slumbering mother, thanked God that there was one warm living bosom to which she could cling, and which would never cast her out. O mother, O daughter, who, when time has blended into an almost sisterly bond the difference of years, grow together, united, as it were, in one heart and one soul by that perfect love

Starting point is 04:29:25 which is beyond even honor and obedience, because including both, how happy are ye? How blessed she, who, looking on her daughter, woman grown, can say, child, thou art both. of my bone and flesh of my flesh, as when I brought thee into the world. And thrice blessed is she who can answer, Mother, I am all thine own, I desire no love but thine, I bring to thee my every joy, and my every grief finds rest on thy bosom. Let those who have this happiness rejoice. Let those who only have its memory, pray always that God would make that memory live until the eternal meeting at the resurrection of the just. End of Chapter 18

Starting point is 04:30:07 Chapter 19 of Olive This Librevox recording is in the public domain Olive by Dinah Maria Crake Chapter 19 In one of the western environs of London is a region which, lying between two great omnibus outlets, is yet as retired and old-fashioned

Starting point is 04:30:32 as though it had been miles and miles distant from the metropolis. Fields there are few or none certainly, but there are quiet green lanes, where in springtime you may pluck many a fragrant hawthorn branch, and market gardens and grand old trees, while on summer mornings you may continually hear a loud chorus of birds, especially larks, though these latter blithe spirits seem to live perpetually in the air, and one marvels how they ever contrive to make their nests in the potato grounds below. Perhaps they do so in emulation of their human neighbors, authors, actors, artists, who in the this place most do congregate many of them poor souls singing their daily songs of life out in the world as the larks in the air none knowing what a mean lowly sometimes even desolate home is the nest whence such music springs well in this region there is a lane was it is no more now a crooked unpaved winding quaint dear old lane and in that lane there is a house and in that house there are two especially odd rooms where dwelt olive rothsay and

Starting point is 04:31:38 her mother. Chance had led them hither, but they both, Olive especially, thanked Chance every day of their lives for having brought them to such a delicious old place. It was the queerest of all queer abodes, was Woodford Cottage. The entrance door and the stable door stood side by side, and the cellar staircase led out of the drawing-room. The direct way from the kitchen to the dining-room was through a suite of sleeping apartments, and the staircase, apparently cut out of the wall, had a beautiful little breakneck corner, which seemed made to prevent anyone who once ascended from ever descending alive. Certainly the contriver of Woodford Cottage must have had some slight twist of the brain, which caused the building to partake of the same pleasant convolution.

Starting point is 04:32:22 Yet, save this slight peculiarity, it was a charming house to live in. It stood in a garden whose high walls shut out all view, save of the trees belonging to an old, dilapidated, uninhabited lodge, where an illustrious statesman had once dwelt, and which was now creeping to decay and oblivion, like the great man's own memory. The trees waved and the birds sang therein for the especial benefit of Woodford Cottage and of Olive Rothsay. She, who so dearly loved a garden, perfectly exalted in this. Most delightful was its desolate untrimmed luxuriance, where the peaches grew almost wild upon the wall, and one gigantic mulberry tree looked beautiful all the year through. moreover climbing over the picturesque bay-windowed house was such a clematis its blossoms glistened like a snow-shower throughout the day and in the night-time its perfume was a very breath of eden

Starting point is 04:33:17 altogether the house was a grand old house just suited for a dreamer a poet or an artist an artist did really inhabit it which had been no small attraction to draw all of thither but of him more anon at present let us look at the mother and daughter as they sit in the one parlor to which all the glories of maravale hall and old church had dwindled but they did not murmur at that for they were together and now that the first bitterness of their loss had passed away they began to feel cheerful even happy olive was flitting in and out of the window which opened into the garden and bringing thence her apron full of flowers to dispose about the large somewhat gloomy and scantily furnished room mrs rothsay was sitting in the sunshine engaged in some delicate needlework in the midst of it she stopped and her hands fell with a heavy sigh it is of no use olive what is of no use mamma i cannot see to thread my needle i really must be growing old "'Nonsense, darling!' "'Olive often said darling quite in a protecting way. "'Why, you are not forty yet. "'Don't talk about growing old, my own beautiful, mamma,

Starting point is 04:34:25 "'for you are beautiful. "'I heard Mr. Vanbrough saying so to his sister the other day, "'and, of course, he, an artist, must know,' "'added Olive, with a sweet flattery, "'as she took her mother's hands and looked at her with admiration. "'And truly it was not uncalled for. "'Over the delicate beauty of Sibilla Rothsay "'had crept a spiritual charm

Starting point is 04:34:45 that increased with life's decline, for her life was declining even so soon. Not that her health was broken, or that she looked withered and aged, but still there was a gradual change, as of the tree, which from its richest green melt into hues that, though still lovely, indicate the time, distant but certain of autumn days, and of leaves softly falling earthwards. So doubtless her life's leaf would fall. Mrs. Rotsay smiled, sweeter than any of the flatteries of the flatteries of her. her youth now fell her daughter's tender praise. You are a silly little girl, but never mind.

Starting point is 04:35:21 Only I wish my eyes did not trouble me so much. Olive, suppose I should come to be a blind old woman for you to take care of. Olive snatched away the work and closed the strained, aching eyes with two sweet kisses. It was a subject she could not bear to talk upon, perhaps because it rested often on Mrs. Rothsay's mind. And she herself had an instinctive apprehension that there was, after all, some truth in these fears concerning her mother's sight. She began quickly to talk of other matters. Hark, Mama, there is Mr. Vanbrough walking in his painting room overhead. He always does so when he is dissatisfied about his picture, and I am sure he need not be, for, oh, how beautiful it is! Miss

Starting point is 04:36:03 Meliora took me in yesterday to see it when he was out. She seems to make quite a pet of you, my child. Her kitten ran away last week, which accounts for it, Mama, but indeed I ought not to laugh at her, for one must have something to love, and she has nothing but her dumb pets. And her brother? Oh, yes. I wonder if anybody else ever loved him, or if he ever loved anybody, said Olive musingly. But, Mama, if he is not handsome himself, he admires beauty in others. What do you think?

Starting point is 04:36:31 He is longing to paint somebody's face and put it in this picture, and I promise to ask. Oh, darling, do sit to him. It would not be much trouble, and I should be so proud to see my beautiful Mama in the Academy exhibition next year. Mrs. Rothsay shook her head. "'Nay, here he comes to ask you himself,' cried Olive, as a tall, a very tall shadow darkened the window, and its corporeality entered the room.

Starting point is 04:36:56 He was a most extraordinary-looking man, Mr. Vanbrough. Olive had indeed reason to call him not handsome, for you probably would not see an uglier man twice in a lifetime. Gigantic and ungainly in height, and coarse in feature. He certainly was the very antipities of his own exquisite creations. and for that reason he created them in his troubled youth tortured with the sense of that blessing which was denied him he had said providence has created me hideous i will outdo providence i with my hand will continually create beauty and so he did i and where he created he loved he took his art for his mistress and like the rhodian sculptor he clasped it to his soul night and day until it grew warm and lifelike and became to him in the stead of every human tie thus michael vanbrough had lived for fifty years a life solitary even to moroseness emulating the great florentine master whose christian name it was his glory to bear

Starting point is 04:37:56 He painted grand pictures, which nobody bought, but which he and his faithful little sister Meliora thought the greater for that. The world did not understand him, nor did he understand the world, so he shut himself out from it altogether, until his small and rapidly decreasing income caused him to admit into his house as lodgers, the widow and daughter. He might not have done so, had not Miss Meliora hinted how lovely the former was, and how useful she might be as a model when they grew sociable together. He came to make his request now, and he made it with the greatest unconcern. In his opinion everything in life tended toward one great end, art. He looked on all beauty as only made to be painted.

Starting point is 04:38:38 Accordingly he stepped up to his inmate with the following succinct address. "'Madame, I want a Grecian head. Yours just suits me. Will you oblige me by sitting?' And then adding as a soothing and flattering encouragement, "'It is for my great work, my Alcestis, one of a series of six pictures which I hope to finish one day. He tossed back his long iron-grey hair, and scanned intently the gentle-looking lady

Starting point is 04:39:04 whom he had hitherto noticed only with the usual civilities of an acquaintanceship consequent on some months' residence in the same house. "'Excellent, madam, your features are the very thing. They are perfect.' "'Really, Mr. Vanbrough, you are very flattering,' began the widow, faintly coloring, and appealing to Olive, who looked delighted, for she regarded the old artist with as much reverence as if he had been Michelangelo himself. He interrupted them both. "'I, that will just do!' And he drew in the air some magic lines over Mrs. Rothesay's head. Good brow, Greek-mouth, if, madam, you would favour me with taking off your cap.

Starting point is 04:39:42 "'Thank you, Miss Olive, you understand me, I see. That will do, the white drapery over the hair? Ah, divine, my alcestis to the life! Madam, Mrs. Rathsay, your head is glorious, it shall go down to posterity in my picture. And he walked up and down the room, rubbing his hands with a delighted pride, which, in its perfect simplicity, could never be confounded with paltry vanity or self-esteem. My work, my picture, in which he so gloried, was utterly different from, I, the man who executed it. He worshipped, not himself at all, and scarcely so much his real painted work, as the ideal which ever flitted before him, and which it was the one great misery of his life never to have sufficiently attained.

Starting point is 04:40:26 "'When shall I sit?' timidly inquired Mrs. Rothsay, still too much of a woman not to be pleased by a painter's praise. "'At once, madam, at once, while the mood is on me, Miss Rothsay you will lead the way, you are not unacquainted with the arcana of my studio. As indeed she was not, having before stood some three hours in the painful attitude of a Cassandra raving, while he painted from her outstretched and very beautiful hands. Happy she was the very moment her foot crossed the threshold of a painter's studio, for Olive's love of art had grown with her growth and strengthened with her strength.

Starting point is 04:41:01 Moreover, the artistic atmosphere in which she now lived had increased this passion tenfold. "'Truly, Miss Rothsay, you seem to know all about it,' said Michael Vanbrough, when, in great pride and delight, she was helping him to arrange her mother's pose, and at last became herself absorbed in admiration of Alcestis. You might have been an artist's daughter or sister. I wish I had been. My daughter is somewhat of an artist herself, Mr. Vanbrough, observed Mrs. Rothsay with maternal pride,

Starting point is 04:41:31 which Olive, deeply blushing, soon quelled by an entreating motion of silence. But the painter went on painting. He saw nothing, thought of nothing, save his Alcestis. He was indeed an enthusiast. Olive watched how, beneath the coarse, ill-formed hand, grew images of perfect beauty. How, within the body, almost repulsive in its ugliness, dwelt a brain which could produce the grandest ideal loveliness, and there dawned in the girl's spirit a stronger conviction

Starting point is 04:42:02 than ever of the majesty of the human soul. It was a comforting thought to one like her, who, as she deemed, had been deprived of so many of life's outward sweetnesses. between herself and Michael Vanbrother was a curious sympathy. To both, nature seemed to have said, renounce the body in exchange for the soul. The sitting had lasted some hours,

Starting point is 04:42:24 during which it took all poor Mrs. Rothsay's gentle patience to humor Olive's enthusiasm by maintaining the very arduous position of an artist's model. Alcestis was getting thoroughly weary of her duties when they were interrupted by an advent rather rare at Woodford Cottage, that of the Daily Post.

Starting point is 04:42:42 Vanbrough grumblingly betook himself to the substitute of a lay figure and drapery, while Mrs. Rothsey read her letter, or rather looked at it and gave it to Olive to read, glad as usual to escape from the trouble of correspondence. Olive examined the superscription, as one sometimes does, uselessly enough, when breaking the seal would explain everything. It was a singularly bold, upright hand, distinct as print, free from all calligraphic flourishes, indicating, as most writing does, indicate in some degree the character of the writer. Slightly eccentric it might be, quick,

Starting point is 04:43:18 restless in its turned-up cheese and wise, but still it was a good hand, an honest hand. Olive thought so, and liked it. Wondering who the writer could be, she opened it and read thus. Madam, from respect to your recent affliction I have kept silence for some months. A silence which you will allow was more than could have been expected from me. Perhaps I should not break it now, save for the claim of a wife and mother who are suffering, and must suffer, from the results of an act which sprung from my own folly and another's cruel, but no, I will not apply harsh words towards one who is now no more. Are you aware, madam, that your late husband, not two days before his death, when in all human probability he must have known himself to be a ruined man,

Starting point is 04:44:04 accepted from me assistance in a matter of business, which the enclosed correspondence between my solicitor and yours will explain. this act of mine done for the sake of an ancient friendship subsisting between my mother and captain rothsay has rendered me liable for a debt so heavy that in paying it my income is impoverished and must continue to be so for years your husband gave me no security i desired none therefore i have no legal claim for requital for this great and bitter sacrifice which makes me daily curse my own folly in having trusted living man but i ask of you madam who who secured from the effects of Captain Rothsey's insolvency, have, I understand, been left in comfort, if not affluence, I ask, is it right, in honor and in honesty, that I, a clergyman with a small stipend,

Starting point is 04:44:55 should suffer the penalty of a deed wherein, with all charity to the dead, I cannot but think I was grievously injured. Awaiting your answer, I remain, madam, your very obedient, Harold Gwynn. Harold Gwynn! Olive, repeating the name to herself, let the letter fall on the ground. Well was it that she stood hidden from sight by the great picture, so that her mother could not know the pang which came over her. The mystery then was solved. Now she knew why, in his last agony, her dying father had written the name of Herald, her poor father,

Starting point is 04:45:28 who was here accused, by implication at least, of a willful act of dishonesty. She regarded the letter with a sense of abhorrence, so coldly cruel it seemed to her, whose tenderness for a father's memory naturally a little belied her judgment. And the heartless charge was brought by the husband of Sarah Derwent. There was bitterness in every association connected with the name of Harold Gwynne. "'Well, dear, the letter,' said Mrs. Rothsay, as they passed from the studio to their own apartment. It brings news that will grieve you,

Starting point is 04:46:00 but never mind, Mama, darling, we will bear all our troubles together. And as briefly and as tenderly as she could, she explained the letter, together with the fact hitherto unknown to Mrs. Rothsay that her husband in his last moments had evidently wished to acknowledge the debt. Well Olive knew the effect this would produce on her mother's mind. Tears, angry exclamations, and bitter repinings, but the daughter soothed them all. "'Now, dear Mama,' she whispered, when Mrs. Rothsay was a little composed, "'we must answer the letter at once. What shall we say?' "'Nothing. That cruel man deserves no reply at all.'

Starting point is 04:46:38 "'Mama!' cried Olive, somewhat reproachfully. "'Whatever he may be we are evidently his debtors. Even Mr. Wilde admits this, you see. We must not forget justice and honor. My poor father's honor!' "'No, no, you are right, my child. Let us do anything if it is for the sake of his dear memory,' sobbed the widow, whose love death had sanctified and endowed with an added tenderness.

Starting point is 04:47:03 "'But, Olive, you must write. I cannot.' Olive assented. she had long taken upon herself all similar duties. At once she sat down to pen this formidable letter. It took her some time, for there was a constant struggle between the necessary formality of a business letter and the impulse of wounded feeling natural to her dead father's child. The finished epistle was a curious mingling of both. "'Shall I read it aloud, Mama, and then the subject will be taken from your mind,' said Olive, as she came and stood by her mother's chair. Mrs. Rothsay assented.

Starting point is 04:47:39 Well, then, here it begins. Reverend Sir, I ought to address him thus, you know, because he is a clergyman, though he does seem so harsh and so unlike what a Christian pastor ought to be. He does indeed, my child, but go on. And Olive read, Reverend Sir, I address you by my mother's desire, to say that she was quite unaware of your claim upon my late dear father. She can only reply to it by requesting your patience for a little.

Starting point is 04:48:05 little time, until she is able to liquidate the debt, not out of the wealth you attribute to her, but out of her present restricted means. And I, my father's only child, wishing to preserve his memory from the imputations you have cast upon it, must tell you that his last moments were spent in endeavoring to write your name. We never understood why until now. Oh, sir, was it right or kind of you so harshly to judge the dead? My father intended to pay you. If you have suffered it was through his misfortune, not his crime. Have a little patience with us, and your claim shall be wholly discharged. Olive Rothsay.

Starting point is 04:48:44 You have said nothing of Sarah. I wonder if she knows this, said the mother, as Olive folded up her letter. Hush, Mama, let me forget everything that was once. Perhaps, too, she is not to blame. I knew Charles Geddes. Sarah might not like to speak of me to her husband. Yet with a look of bitter pain, Olive wrote the address of her husband. letter, Harbury Parsonage, Sarah's home. She lingered, too, over the name of Sarah's husband.

Starting point is 04:49:12 Harold Gwynn. Oh, Mama, how different names look! I cannot bear the sight of this. I hate it. Years after, Olive remembered these words. End of Chapter 19. Chapter 20 of Olive. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dinah Maria Crake. If the old painter of Woodford Cottage was an ascetic and a misanthrope, never was the milk of human kindness so redundant in any human heart, as in that of his excellent little sister, Miss Meliora Vanbrough. From the day of her birth, when her indigent father's anticipation of a bequeathed fortune had caused her rather eccentric Christian name,

Starting point is 04:50:04 Miss Meliora began a chase after the wayward sprite prosperity. She had hunted it during her whole lifetime, and never caught anything but its departing shadow. She had never grown rich, though she was always hoping to do so. She had never married, for no one had ever asked her. Whether she had loved, but that was another question. She had probably quite forgotten the days of her youth. At all events, she never talked about them now.

Starting point is 04:50:29 But though to herself her name had been a mockery, to others it was not so. Wherever she went, she always brought better things, at least in anticipation. She was the most hopeful little body in the world, and carried with her a score of consolatory proverbs, about long lanes that had most fortunate turnings, and cloudy mornings that were sure to change into very fine days. She had always in her heart a garden full of small budding blessings, and though they never burst into flowers, she kept on ever expecting they would do so, and was therefore quite satisfied. Poor Miss Milora! If her hopes never blossomed, never had the grief of watching them die. Her whole life had been pervaded by one grand desire

Starting point is 04:51:13 to see her brother president of the Royal Academy. When she was a schoolgirl and he a student, she had secretly sketched his likeness, the only one extent of his ugly yet soul-lighted face, and had prefixed there to his name with the magic letters P-B-A. She felt sure the prophecy would be fulfilled one day and then she would show him the portrait and let her humble sisterly love go down to posterity on the hem of his robe of fame. Meliora told all this to her favorite, Olive Rothsay, one day when they were busying themselves in gardening, an occupation wherein their tastes agreed, and which contributed no little to the affection and confidence that was gradually springing up between them.

Starting point is 04:51:56 It is a great thing to be an artist, said Olive musingly. Nothing like it in the whole world, my dear! Think of all the stories of little peasant boys who have thus risen to be the companions of kings, where by the-lawful. the kings were the parties most honored. Remember the stories of Francis I first and Titian, of Henry VIII and Hans Holbein, of Van Dyck and Charles I first. You seem quite learned in Art, Miss Vanbrough, I wish you would impart to me a little of your knowledge. To be sure I will, my dear, said the proud, delighted little woman. You see, when I was a girl I read up on art

Starting point is 04:52:30 that I might be able to talk to Michael. Somehow he never did care to talk with me, but perhaps he may yet. Olive's mind seemed wandering from the conversation, and from her employment, too, for the mignonette bed she was weeding lost quite as many flowers as weeds. At last she said, Miss Meliora, do people ever grow rich as artists? Michael has not done so, answered her friend, at which Olive began to blush for what seemed a thoughtless question, but Michael has peculiar notions. However, I feel sure he will be a rich man yet, like Sir Joshua Reynolds and Sir Thomas Lawrence and many more. Olive began to muse again.

Starting point is 04:53:09 Then she said timidly, I wonder why, with all your love for art, you yourself did not become an artist. Bless you, my dear, I should never think of such a thing. I have no genius at all for anything. Michael always said so. I, an artist, a poor little woman like me. Yet some women have been painters.

Starting point is 04:53:28 Oh, yes, plenty. There was Angelica Kaufman and Perseer Rossi and Elizabetha Serrani. In our day there is Mrs. A and Miss B and the two C's. And if you read about the old Italian masters, you will find that many of them had wives or daughters or sisters who helped them a great deal. I wish I had been such a one. Depend upon it, my dear girl, said Meliora, waxing quite oracular in her enthusiasm, there is no profession in the world that brings fame and riches and happiness like that of an artist. Olive only half believed in the innocent optimism of her companion.

Starting point is 04:54:04 Still, Miss Vanbrough's words impressed themselves strongly on her mind, wherein was now a chaos of anxious thought. From the day when Mr. Gwyn's letter came, she had positively writhed under the burden of this heavy debt, which it would take years to discharge, unless a great deduction were made from their slender income. And how could she propose that? How bare to see her delicate and often ailing mother

Starting point is 04:54:27 deprived of the small luxuries which had become necessary comforts? To their letter no answer had come. Their creditor was then a patient one, but this thought the more stimulated olive to defray the debt. Night and day it weighed her down, plan after plan she formed, chiefly in secret, for the mention of this painful circumstance was more than her mother could bear. Among other schemes, she thought of entering on that last resource of helpless womanhood, the dreary life of a daily governess, but her desultory education, she well knew, unfitted her for the duty, and no sooner did she venture to propose the plan,

Starting point is 04:55:04 than Mrs. Rothsay's lamentations and entreaties rendered it impracticable. But Miss Vanbride's conversation now awaked a new scheme, by which in time she might be able to redeem her father's memory and to save her mother from any sacrifice entailed by this debt. And so, though this confession may somewhat lessen the romance of her character, it was from no yearning after fame, no genius-led ambition, but from the mere desire of earning money that Olive Rothsay first conceived the thought of becoming.

Starting point is 04:55:34 an artist. Very faint it was at first, so faint that she did not even breathe it to her mother, but it stimulated her to labor incessantly at her drawing, silently to try and gain information from Miss Meliora, to haunt the painter's studio until she had become familiar with many of its mysteries. She had crept into Vanbrough's good graces, and he made her useful in a thousand ways. But laboring secretly and without encouragement, Olive found her progress in drawing, she did not venture to call these humble efforts art, very slow indeed. One day, when Mrs. Rothesay was gone out, Miliora came in to have a chat with her young favorite, and found poor olives sitting by herself, quietly crying. There was lying beside her an unfinished sketch,

Starting point is 04:56:20 which she hastily hid, before Miss Vanbrough could notice what had been her occupation. "'My dear, what is the matter with you? No serious trouble, I hope,' cried the painter's little sister, who always melted into anxious compassion at the sight of anybody's tears. But olives only flowed the faster, she being in truth extremely miserable. For this day her mother had sorrowfully alluded to Mr. Gwynne's claim, and had begun to propose many little personal sacrifices on her own part, which grieved her affectionate daughter to the heart. Miliora made vain efforts at comforting, and then, as a last resource, she went and fetched two little kittens and laid them on Olive's lap by way of consolation, for her own delight and solace was in her household menagerie, from which

Starting point is 04:57:05 she was ever-evolving great future blessings. She had always either a cat so beautiful that when sent to Edwin Landseer it would certainly produce a revolution in the subjects of his animal pictures, or else a terrier so bewitching that she intended to present it to her then-girlish dog-loving majesty, thereby causing a shower of prosperity to fall upon the household of Vanbrough. Olive dried her tears and stroked the kittens. Her propensity for such pets was not her lightest merit in Miliora's eyes. Then she suffered herself to be tenderly soothed into acknowledging that she was very unhappy. I'll not ask you why, my dear, because Michael used to tell me I had far too much of feminine curiosity.

Starting point is 04:57:47 I only meant could I comfort you in any way. There was something so unobtrusive in her sympathy that Olive felt inclined to open her heart to the gentle Meliora. I can't tell you all, said she, I think it would not be quite right. And, trembling and hesitating, as if even the confession indicated something of shame, she whispered her longing for that great comfort, money of her own earning. You, my dear, you want money, cried Miss Meliora, who had always looked upon her new inmate, Mrs. Rothsay, as a sort of domestic goldmine, but she had the delicacy not to press olive further.

Starting point is 04:58:24 I do. I can't tell you why, but it is for a good, a holy purpose. Oh, Miss Vanbrough, if you could but show me any way of earning money for myself, think for me, you who know so much more of the world than I. Which truth did not at all disprove the fact that innocent little Meliora was a very child in worldly wisdom. She proved it by her next sentence, delivered oracularly after some minutes of hard cogitation. My dear, there is but one way to gain wealth and prosperity, if you had but a taste for art. Olive looked up eagerly.

Starting point is 04:59:00 Ah, that is what I have been brooding over this long time, until I was ashamed of myself and my own presumption. Your presumption? Yes, because I have sometimes thought my drawings were not so very, very bad, and I love art so dearly I would give anything in the world to be an artist. You draw. You longed to be an artist. It was the only thing wanted to make Olive quite perfect in Miliora's eyes. She jumped up and embraced her young favorite with the greatest enthusiasm. I knew this was in you. All good people must have a love for art, and you shall have your desire for my brother shall teach you.

Starting point is 04:59:38 I must go and tell him directly. But Olive resisted, for her poor little heart began to quake. What if her long-loved girlish dreams should be quenched at once? if mr vanbrose's stern dictum should be that she had no talent and never could become an artist at all well then don't be frightened my dear girl let me see your sketches i do know a little about such things though michael thinks i don't said miss miliora and olive her cheeks tingling with that sensitive emotion which makes many a young artist or poet shrink in real agony when the crude first fruits of his genius are brought to light olive stood by while the painter's kind little sister turned over a portfolio filled with a most heterogeneous mass of productions. Their very oddity showed the spirit of art that dictated them. There were no pretty, well-finished, young ladyish sketches of tumble-down cottages and trees whose species no botanist could ever define, or smooth chalk heads with very tiny mouths and very crooked noses. Olive's productions were all as rough as rough could be,

Starting point is 05:00:42 few even attaining to the dignity of drawing paper. They were done on backs of letters or any sort of scraps, and comprised numberless pen and ink portraits of the one beautiful face, dearest to the daughter's heart, rude studies in charcoal of natural objects, outlines from memory a picture she had seen, among which Meliora's eye proudly discerned several of Mr. Vanbrose, while scattered here and there were original pencil designs, ludicrously voluminous, illustrating nearly every poet living or dead. Michael Vanbris' sister was not likely to be quite ignorant of art. Indeed, she had quietly gathered up a tolerable critical knowledge of it.

Starting point is 05:01:23 She went through the portfolio, making remarks here and there. At last she closed it, but with a look so beamingly encouraging that Olive trembled for very joy. "'Let us go to Michael, let us go to Michael,' was all the happy little woman said. So they went. Unluckily Michael was not himself. He had been pestered with a popinjay in the shape of of a would-be connoisseur, and he was trying to smooth his ruffled feathers and compose himself again to solitude and alcestis. His, well, what do you want, was a sort of suppressed

Starting point is 05:01:55 bellow, softening down a little at sight of olive. "'Brother!' cried Miss Meliora, trying to gather up her crumbling enthusiasm into one courageous point. "'Michael, I have found out a new genius. Look here and say if Olive Rothsay will not make an artist. Shaw, a woman make an artist? Ridiculous, was the answer. Ha! Don't come near my picture. The paint's wet. Get away! And he stood, flourishing his mall stick and palate, looking very like a gigantic warrior guarding the shrine of art with shield and spear. His poor little sister, quite confounded, tried to pick up the drawings which had fallen on the floor,

Starting point is 05:02:34 but he thundered out, let them alone, and then politely desired Meliora to quit the room. "'Very well, brother. Perhaps it will be better for you to look at the sketches another time. "'Come, my dear. Stay, I want Miss Rothsay. No one else knows how to put on that purple clammis properly, and I must work at drapery to-day. I am lit for nothing else, thanks to that puppy who was just gone, confound him. I beg your pardon, Miss Rothsay,' muttered the old painter, in a slight tone of concession, which encouraged Miliora to another gentle attack. Then, brother, since your day is spoiled, don't you think if you were to look? I'll look at nothing, get away with you and leave Miss Rothsay here, the only one of you

Starting point is 05:03:15 women kind who is fit to enter an artist's studio. Here Miliora sly looked at Olive with an encouraging smile, and then, by no means despairing of her kind-hearted mission, she vanished. Olive, humbled and disconsolate, prepared for her voluntary duty as Van Braselais figure. If she had not so reverenced his genius, she certainly would not have altogether liked the man, but her hero-worship was so intense, and her womanly patience so all-forgiving, that she bore his occasional strange humors almost as meekly as Meliora herself. Today, for the hundredth time, she watched the painter's brow smooth, and his voice soften, as upon him grew the influence of his beautiful creation. Alcestis, calmly smiling from the canvas, shed balm into his vexed soul. But beneath the purple

Starting point is 05:04:04 Clamice, poor little olives still trembled and grieved. Not until her hope was thus crushed, did she know how near her heart it had been. She thought of Michael Vanbrough's scornful rebuke, and bitter shame possessed her. She stood, patient model, her fingers stiffening over the rich drapery, her eyes wearily fixed on the one corner of the room, in the direction of which she was obliged to turn her head. The monotonous attitude contributed to plunge her mind into that dull despair which produces immobility. Michael Vanbra had never had so steady a model. As Olive was placed, he could not see her face unless he moved. When he did so, he quite startled her out of a reverie by exclaiming, "'Exquisite! Stay just as you are, don't change your expression. That's the very

Starting point is 05:04:50 face I want for the mother of Alcestis. A little older I must make it, but the look of passive misery, the depressed eyelids and mouth. Ah, beautiful, beautiful! Do pray let me have that expression again, just for three minutes, cried the eager painter. He accomplished his end, for Olive's features, from Long Habit, had had good practice in that line, and she would willingly have fixed them all into LeBrand's passions, if necessary for artistic purposes. Delighted at his success, Mr. Vanbrough suddenly thought of his model, not as a model, but as a human being. He wondered what had produced the look, which, now faithfully transferred to the canvas, completed a bit that had troubled him for weeks. He then thought of the drawings, and of his roughness concerning them. Usually he hated

Starting point is 05:05:37 amateurs in their productions, but perhaps these might not be so bad. He would not condescend to lift them, but, fidgeting with his mael-stick, he stirred them about once or twice, accidentally as it seemed, until he had a very good notion of what they were. Then, after half an hour's silent painting, he thus addressed Olive, Miss Roth say, what put it into your head that you wanted to be an artist? "'Allive answered nothing. "'She was ashamed to speak of her girlish aspirations, "'such as they had been, "'and she could not tell the other motive,

Starting point is 05:06:09 "'the secret about Mr. Gwynne. "'Besides, Vanbrough would have scorned "'the bare idea of her entering "'on the great career of art for money, "'so she was silent. "'He did not seem to mind it at all, "'but went on talking, as he sometimes did, "'in a sort of declamatory monologue.

Starting point is 05:06:26 "'I am not such a fool as to say "'that genius is of either sex, but it is an acknowledged fact that no woman ever was a great painter, poet, or musician. Genius, the mighty one, scorns to exist in weak female nature, and even if it did, custom and education would certainly stunt its growth. Look here, child! And to Olive's astonishment he snatched up one of her drawings and began lecturing thereupon. Here you have made a design of some originality.

Starting point is 05:06:54 I hate your young lady copyists of landscapes and flowers, and Julian's paltry heads. Come, let us see this epigraph. Leon's vision of Sithna. Upon the mountain's dizzy brink she stood. Good, bold enough, too. And the painter settled himself into a long, silent examination of the sketch.

Starting point is 05:07:16 Then he said, Well, this is tolerable. A woman standing on a rock, a man a little distance below looking at her, both drawn with decent correctness, only overlaid with drapery to hide ignorance of anatomy. a very respectable design but when one compares it with the poem and in his deep sonorous voice he repeated the stanzas from the revolt of islam

Starting point is 05:07:39 she stood alone above the heavens were spread below the flood was murmuring in its caves the wind had blown her hair apart through which her eyes and forehead shone a cloud was hanging o'er the western mountains before its blue and moveless depths were flying gray mists poured forth from the unresting fountains of darkness in the north the day was dying. Sudden the sun shone forth, its beams were lying, like boiling gold on ocean strange to sea, and on the shattered vapors which defying the power of light in vain tossed restlessly in the red heaven like wrecks in a tempestuous sea. It was a stream of living beams whose bank, on either side by the cloud's cleft, was made, and where its chasms that flood of glory drank, its waves gushed forth like fire, and as if swayed, by some mute tempest, rolled on her.

Starting point is 05:08:36 The shade of her bright image floated on the river, of liquid light, which then did end and fade. Her radiant shape upon its verge did shiver, aloft her flowing hair like strings of flames did quiver. There, cried Vanbrugh, his countenance glowing with a fierce inspiration that made it grand through all its ugliness. There! What woman could paint that? Or rather what man! Alas, how feeble we are! We the boldest followers of an art which is divine! Truly there was but one among us who was himself above humanity, Michael the angel. He gazed reverently at the majestic head of Buonarotti, which loomed out from the shadowy corner of the studio. Olive experienced, as she often did when brought into contact with this man's enthusiasm, a delight almost like terror, for it made

Starting point is 05:09:27 her shudder and tremble as though within her own poor frame was that pithian affluence, felt, not understood, the spirit of genius. Vanbrugh came back and continued his painting, talking all the while. I said that it was impossible for a woman to become an artist, I mean a great artist. Have you ever thought what that term implies? Not only a painter but a poet, a man of learning, of reading of office. observation, a gentleman, we artists have been the friends of kings, a man of stainless virtue, or how can he reach the pure ideal, a man of iron will, indomitable daring, and passion strong,

Starting point is 05:10:04 yet kept always leashed in his hand, last and greatest, a man who, feeling within him the divine spirit, with his whole soul, worships God. Vanbrough lifted off his velvet cap and reverently bared his head. Then he continued, this is what an artist should be by nature, I have not spoken of what he has to make himself. Years of study incessant lie before him, no life of a carpet-night, no easy play-work of scraping colors on canvas. Why these hands of mine had wielded not only the pencil but the scalpel! These eyes have rested on scenes of horror, misery, crime I glory in it, for it was all for art.

Starting point is 05:10:44 At times I have almost felt like Parhasius of old, who exulted in his captives dying throes, since upon them his hand of genius would confer immortality. But I beg your pardon, you are but a woman, a mere girl, added Vanbrough, seeing Olive shudder. Yet he had not been unmindful of the ardent enthusiasm which had dilated her whole frame while listening. It touched him like the memory of his own youth. Some likeness too there seemed between himself and this young creature, to whom nature had been so niggardly. She might also be one of those who, shut out from human ties, are the more free to work the glorious work of genius.

Starting point is 05:11:22 After a few minutes of thought, Michael again burst forth. They who embrace art must embrace her with heart and soul as their one only bride, and she will be a loving bride to them, she will stand in the place of all other joy. Is it not triumph for him to whom fate has denied personal beauty, that his hand, his flesh and blood hand, has power to create it? What cares he for worldly splendor, when in dreams he can summon up a fairyland so gorgeous, that in limning it even his own rainbow-died pencil fails, what need has he for home, to whom the wide world is full of treasures of study, for which life itself is too short,

Starting point is 05:12:01 and what to him are earthly and domestic ties? For friendship he exchanges the world's worship, which may be his in life, must be after death. For love! Here the old artist paused a moment, and there was something heavenly in the melody of his voice as he continued. For love, Frail human love, the poison flower of youth which only lasts an hour, he has his own divine ideal. It flits continually before him, sometimes all but clasped. It inspires his manhood with purity and pours celestial passion into his age. His heart, though dead to all human ties, is not cold, but burning.

Starting point is 05:12:40 For he worships the ideal of beauty. He loves the ideal of love. Olive listened, her mind reeling before these impetuous words. One moment she looked at Vanbrough where he stood, his age transfigured into youth, his ugliness into majesty, by the radiance of the immortal fire that dwelt within him. Then she dropped almost at his feet crying, "'I too am one of these outcasts. Give me then this inner life which atones for all. Friend, counsel me, master, teach me.

Starting point is 05:13:12 Woman as I am I will dare all things, endure all things. Let me be an artist.' End of Chapter 20. Chapter 21 of Olive. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dinah Maria Crake. Chapter 21. Olive Rothsay's desire, like all strongest hopes, by its own energy, fulfilled itself.

Starting point is 05:13:45 She became an artist, not in a week, a month, a year. Art exacts of its votaries no less service than a lifetime. But in her girl's soul the right chord had been touched, which began to vibrate unto noble music. The true seed had been sown, which day by day grew into a goodly plant. Vanbra had said, truly, that genius is of no sex, and he had said likewise truly that no woman can be an artist, that is, a great artist. The hierarchies of the soul's dominion belong only to man, and it is right they should. He it was whom God created first, let him take the preeminence.

Starting point is 05:14:25 But among those stars of lesser glory, which are given to lighten the nations, among sweet-voiced poets, earnest prose writers, who, by the lofty truth that lies hid beneath legend and parable, purify the world, graceful painters and beautiful musicians, each brightening their generation, among these let women shine. But her sphere is and ever must be bounded, because, however fine her genius may be, it always dwells in a woman's breast. Nature, which gave to man the dominion of the intellect, gave to her that of the heart and affections.

Starting point is 05:15:01 These bind her with everlasting links from which she cannot free herself, nay, she would not if she could. Herein man has the advantage. He, strong in his might of intellect, can make it his all in all, his life's sole aim and reward. A brutus, for that ambition which is misnamed patriotism, can trample on all human ties. A Michelangelo can stand alone with his work, and so go sternly down unto a desolate old age. But there scarcely ever lived the woman who would not rather sit meekly by her own hearth, with her husband at her side and her children at her knee, than be the crowned corrine of the capital. Thus woman, seeking to strive with man, is made feebler by the very spirit of love which in her own sphere is her chiefest strength. But sometimes chance or circumstance

Starting point is 05:15:49 or wrong, sealing up her woman's nature, converts her into a self-dependent human soul. Instead of life's sweetnesses, she has before her life's greatnesses. The struggle past, her genius may lift itself upward, expand and grow, though never to the stature of man's. Then, even while she walks with scarce-heeled feet over the world's rough pathway, heaven's glory may rest upon her upturned brow, and she may become a light unto her generation. Such a destiny lay open before Olive Rothsay. She welcomed it as one who has girded himself with steadfast but mournful patience unto a long and weary journey, welcomes the faint ray that promises to guide him through the desolation. No more she uttered, as was her custom in

Starting point is 05:16:35 melancholy moods, the bitter complaint, why was I born? But she said to herself, I will live so as to leave the world better when I die, then I shall not have lived in vain. It was long before Michael Vanbrough could thoroughly reconcile himself to the idea of a girl's becoming a painter, but by degrees he learned to view his young pupil as a pupil, and never thought of her sex at all. Under his guidance, Olive passed from the mere prettiness of most woman painters to the grandeur of true art. Strengthened by her almost masculine power of mind, she learned to comprehend and to reverence the mighty masters whom Vanbrough loved. He led her to those heights and depths which are rarely opened to a woman's ken, and she, following, applied herself to the

Starting point is 05:17:20 most obstrusive art studies. Still, as he had said, there were bounds that she could not pass, but as far as in her lay, she sought to lift herself above her sex weakness and want of perseverance, and by labor from which most women would have shrunk, to make herself worthy of being ranked among those painters who are not for an age but for all time. That personal deformity which she thought excluded her from a woman's natural destiny gave her freedom in her own. Brought into contact with the world, she scarcely felt like a young and timid girl, but as a being, isolated yet strong in her isolation, who mingles and must mingle among men, not as a woman, but as one who, like themselves, pursues her own calling,

Starting point is 05:18:05 has her own aim, and can therefore step aside for no vain fear, nor sink beneath any foolish shame. And wherever she went, her own perfect innocence wrapped her round as with a shield. Still, little quiet Olive could do many things with an independence that would have been impossible to a girl lively and beautiful. Oftentimes Mrs. Rothsay trembled and murmured at days of solitary study in the British Museum and in various picture galleries. long, lonely walks, sometimes in wintertime extending far into the dusk of evening. But Olive always answered with a pensive smile,

Starting point is 05:18:41 "'Nay, mother, I am quite safe everywhere. Remember I am not like other girls. Who would notice me?' But she always accompanied any painful illusion of this kind by saying how happy she was in being so free, and how fortunate it seemed that there could be nothing to hinder her from following her heart's desire. She was growing as great an optimist as Miss Miliora herself, who, cheerful little soul, was in the seventh heaven of delight whenever she heard her brother acknowledge Olive's progress.

Starting point is 05:19:10 "'And don't you see, my dear Miss Rothsay,' she said sometimes, that everything always turns out for the best, and that if you had not been so unhappy, and I had not come in and found you crying, you might have gone on pining in secret, instead of growing up to be an artist. Olive assented and confessed it was rather strange that out of her chiefest trouble should have arisen her chiefest joy. "'It almost seems,' said she to her mother, laughing, as if that hard-hearted Mr. Harold Gwynn had held the threads of my destiny and helped to make me an artist. "'Don't let us talk about Mr. Gwynn. It is a disagreeable subject, my child,' was Mrs. Rothesay's answer. "'Allive did not talk about him, but she thought the more. And, though had he known it, the same thing, the same thing, the same thing. self-despising Mr. Vanbrough would never have forgiven such a desecration of art, it was not her

Starting point is 05:20:00 lightest spur in the attainment of excellence, to feel that as soon as her pictures were good enough to sell, she might earn money enough to discharge the claim of this harsh creditor, whose very name sent a pang to her heart. Day by day, as her mind strengthened and her genius developed, Olive's existence seemed to brighten. Her domestic life was full of many dear ties, the chief of which was that devotion, less a sentiment than a passion, which she felt for her mother. Her intellectual life grew more intense, while she felt the stay and solace of having a fixed pursuit to occupy her whole future. Also, it was good for her to live with the enthusiastic painter and his meek contented little sister,

Starting point is 05:20:42 for she learnt thereby that life might pass not merely in endurance but in peace, without either of those blessings which in her early romance she deemed the chief of all, beauty and love. There was a greatness and happiness beyond them both. The lesson was impressed more deeply by a little incident that chanced about this time. Miss Vanbrough sometimes took Olive with her on those little errands of charity, which were not unfrequent with the gentle Meliora. "'I wish you would come with me to-day,' she said once, "'because to tell the truth I hardly like to go alone.'

Starting point is 05:21:15 "'Indeed,' said Olive, smiling, "'for the little old maid was as brave as a lion among these gloomiest of all gloomy lanes, familiar to her even in dark nights, and this was a sunny spring morning. I am not going to see an ordinary poor person, but that quadroon woman, Mrs. Manners, who is one of my brother's models sometimes. You know her? Scarcely, but I have seen her pass through the hall. Oh, she was a grand, beautiful woman like an eastern queen.

Starting point is 05:21:43 You remember it was she from whom Mr. Vanra painted the Cleopatra. What an eye she had and what a glorious mouth, cried Olive, waxing enthusiastic. "'Poor thing! Her beauty is sadly wasting now,' said Meliora. "'She seems to be slowly dying, and I shouldn't wonder if it were of sheer starvation. Those models earned so little. Yesterday she fainted as she stood. Michael is so thoughtless. He had to call me to give her some wine, and then we sent the maid home with her.

Starting point is 05:22:11 She lives in a poor place, Hannah says, but quite decent and respectable. I shall surely go and see the poor creature. But she looks such a desperate sort of woman. Her eyes glare quite ferociously sometimes. She might be angry, so I had rather not be alone if you will come, Miss Rothsay. Olive consented at once. There was in her a certain romance which, putting all sympathy aside, quite gloried in such an adventure. They walked for a mile or two until they reached a miserable street by the riverside,

Starting point is 05:22:41 but Miss Meliora had forgotten the number. They must have returned, their quest unsatisfied, had not Olive seen a little girl leaning out of an upper window, her ragged elbows on the sill, her elf-like black eyes watching the boats up and down the Thames. "'I know that child,' Olive said. "'It is the poor woman's. She left it in the hall one day at Woodford Cottage, and I noticed it from its black eyes and fair hair. I remember, too, for I asked its singular and very pretty name, Crystal. Talking thus, they mounted the rickety staircase, and inquired for Mrs. Manners.

Starting point is 05:23:16 The door of the room was flung open from without, with a noise that would have broken in any torpor less deep than that into which its wretched occupant had fallen. "'Ma me is asleep. Don't wake her or she'll scold,' said Crystal, jumping down from the window and interposing between Miss Vanbrough and the woman who was called Mrs. Manners. She was indeed a very beautiful woman, though her beauty was on a grand scale. She had flung herself half-dressed upon what seemed a heap of straw with a blanket thrown over. As she lay there, sleeping heavily, her arm tossed above her head, the large, but perfect proportions of her form reminded Olive of the reclining figure in the group of the

Starting point is 05:23:54 three fates. But there was, in the prematurely old and wasted face, something that told of a wrecked life. Olive, prone to romance weaving, wondered whether nature had in a mere freak invested an ordinary low-worn woman with the form of the ancient queens of the world, or whether within that grand body lay ruined an equally grand soul. Miss Meliora did not think about anything of the sort, but merely that her brother's dinner hour was drawing near, and that if poor Mrs. Manners did not wake, they must go back without speaking to her. But she did wake soon, and the paroxysm of anger which seized her on discovering that she had intruding guests caused Olive to retire almost to the staircase. But brave little Miss Vanbrough did not so easily give up her charitable purpose.

Starting point is 05:24:41 Indeed, my good woman, I only meant to offer you sympathy or any help you might need in your illness. The woman refused both. I tell you we want for nothing. Mammy, I am so hungry, said little Crystal, in a tone between complaint and effrontery. I will have something to eat. You should not speak so rudely to your mother, little girl, interposed Miss Meliora. My mother! No, indeed, she is only ma'amie. My mother was a rich lady and my father a noble gentleman. Hear her, heaven, oh hear her, groaned the woman on the floor. "'But I love Mammy very much, that's when she's kind to me,' said Crystal, "'and as for my own father and mother, who cares for them?

Starting point is 05:25:23 "'For as Mamie says, they were drowned together in the deep sea years ago.' "'Aye, I,' was the muttered answer, as Mrs. Manners clutched the child, "'a little thin-limbed, cunning-eyed girl of eight or ten years old, "'and pressed her to her breast, with a strain more like the grip of a lioness "'than a tender woman's clasp. "'Then she fell back exhausted, and took her, no more notice of anybody. Meliora forgot Mr. Vanbrough's dinner and all things else in making a few charitable arrangements, which resulted in a comfortable tea for Little Crystal and Mammy.

Starting point is 05:25:57 Sleep had again overpowered the sick woman, who appeared to be slowly dying of that anomalous disease called decline, in which the mind is the chief agent of the body's decay. Meanwhile, Miss Vanbrough talked in an undertone to Little Crystal, who, her hunger satisfied, stood, finger in mouth, watching the two ladies with her fierce black eyes, the very image of a half-tamed gypsy. Indeed, Miss Meliora seemed rather uneasy, and desirous to learn more of her companions, for she questioned the child closely. And is the person you call Mammy any relation to you? The neighbors say she is my aunt from the likeness, I don't know. And her name is Mrs. Manners, a widow, no doubt, for I remember she was in very respectable morning when she first came

Starting point is 05:26:42 to Woodford Cottage. Poor young creature, she continued, sitting down beside the object of her compassion, who was or seemed asleep. How hard to lose her husband so soon! And I dare say she has gone through great poverty, sold one thing after another to keep her alive. Why, I declare, added the simple and unworldly Meliora, who could make a story to fit anything. Poor soul!

Starting point is 05:27:07 She has even been forced to part with her wedding ring! I never had one! I scorned it. cried the woman, leaping up with a violence that quite confounded the painter's sister. "'Do you come to insult me, you smooth-tongued English lady? Ah, you shrink away. What do you know about me?' "'I don't know anything about you, indeed,' said Meliora, creeping to the door, while Olive, who could not understand the cause of half she witnessed,

Starting point is 05:27:32 stood simply looking on in wonder, almost in admiration, for there was a strange beauty like that of a pythiness in the woman's attitude and mean. "'You know nothing of me, then you shall know. I come from a country where are thousands of young girls, whose mixed blood is too pure for slavery, too tainted for freedom. Lovely, accomplished, brought up delicately, they yet have no higher future than to be the white man's passing toy, cherished, wearied of, and spurned. She paused, and Miss Vanbrough, astonished at this sudden outburst in language so vehement and so above her apparent rank, had not a word to say. The woman continued,

Starting point is 05:28:10 "'I but fulfilled my destiny. How could such as I hope to bear an honest man's honest name? So, when my fate came upon me, I cast all shame to the winds and lived out my life. I followed my lover across the sea. I clung to him, faithful in my degradation, and when his child slept on my bosom, I looked at it, and was almost happy. Now what think you of me, virtuous English ladies?' cried the outcast, as she tossed back her cloud of dark, crisp hair, and fixed her eyes sternly yet mockingly upon

Starting point is 05:28:42 her visitors. Poor Miss Vanbrough was conscious of but one thing, that this scene was most unfit for a young girl, and that if she once could get Olive away, all future visits to the miserable woman should be paid by herself alone. I will see you another day, Miss Manners, but we cannot really stay now. Come, my dear Miss Roth say. And she and her charge quitted the room. Apparently their precipitate departure still further irritated the poor creature they had come to succor.

Starting point is 05:29:11 For, as they descended the stairs, they heard her repeatedly shriek out Olive's surname, in tones so wild that whether it was meant for rage or entreaty they could not tell. Olive wanted to return. No, my dear, she would only insult you. Besides, I will go myself tomorrow. Poor wretch! She is plainly near her end. We must be merciful to the dying.

Starting point is 05:29:32 Olive walked home thoughtfully, not speaking much. When they passed out of the squalid, noisy streets, into the quiet lane that led to Woodford Cottage, she had never felt so keenly the blessing of a pure and peaceful home. She mounted to the pretty bedchamber which she and her mother occupied, and stood at the open window, drinking in the fresh odor of the bursting leaves. Scarcely a breath stirred the soft spring evening. The sky was like one calm blue lake, and therein floated,

Starting point is 05:30:02 close to the western verge, the New Moon's silver boat. She remembered how it had been one of her childish superstitions always to wish at the new moon. How often her desire seeming perversely to lift itself towards things unattainable had she framed one sole wish that she might be beautiful and beloved. Beautiful and beloved! She thought of the poor creature whose fierce words yet rang in her ear. Beautiful and beloved! She had been both!

Starting point is 05:30:30 And what was she now? And Olive rejoiced that her own childish longings had passed into the better wisdom of subdued and patient womanhood. Had she now a wish, it was for that pure heart and lowly mind which are more precious than beauty, for that serene peace of virtue which is more to be desired than love. Now her fate seemed plain before her. Within her home she saw the vista of a life of filial devotion

Starting point is 05:30:55 blessed in a constant stream of love that knew no fall. As she looked forth into the world without, there rose the hope of her art, under shadow of which the lonely woman might go down to the grave not unhonored in her day. Remembering all this, Olive murmured no longer at her destiny. She thanked God, for she felt that she was not unhappy. End of Chapter 22 of Olive. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dinah Maria Crake. Chapter 22

Starting point is 05:31:35 Perhaps, air following Olive's fortunes, it may be as well to set the reader's mind at rest concerning the incident narrated in the preceding chapter. It turned out the olden tale of passion, misery, and death. No more could be made of it, even by the imaginative Miss Meliora. A few words will comprise all that she discovered. Returning faithfully the next day, the kind little woman found that the object of her charity needed it no more. In the night, suddenly it was thought the spirit had departed. There was no friend to arrange anything, so Miss Vanbrough undertook it all. Her own unobtrusive

Starting point is 05:32:14 benevolence prevented a pauper funeral. But in examining the few relics of the deceased, she was surprised to find papers which clearly explained the fact that some years before there had been placed in a London bank to the credit of Celia Manners, a sum sufficient to produce a moderate annuity. The woman had rejected it and starved. But she had not died without leaving a written injunction that it should be claimed by the child Crystal, since it was her right. This was accomplished, to the great satisfaction of Miss Vanbrough and of the honest banker, who knew that the man, what sort of man he had quite forgotten, who deposited the money, had enjoined that it should be paid whenever claimed by Celia or by Crystal Manners. Crystal Manners was then the child's name,

Starting point is 05:33:01 Miss Vanbrough might have thought that this discovery implied the heritage of shame, but for the little girl's obstinate persistence in the tale respecting her unknown father and mother who were a noble gentleman and grand lady and had been drowned at sea. The circumstance was by no means improbable, and it had evidently been strongly impressed on Crystal by the woman she called Mammy. Whatever relationship there was between them, it could not be the maternal one. Miss Vanbrough could not believe in the possibility of a mother thus voluntarily renouncing her own child. Miss Meliora put Crystal to board with an old servant of hers for a few weeks. But there came such reports of the child's daring and unruly temper, that, quaking under her responsibility, she decided to send her protege away to school. The only place she could think of was an old-fashioned pension in Paris,

Starting point is 05:33:52 where, during her brother's studies there, her own slender education had been acquired. thither the little stranger was despatched by means of a succession of contrivances which almost drove the simple miliora crazy for lest her little adventure of benevolence should come to michael's ears she dared to take no one into her confidence not even the rothsay's madame blandon the mistress of the pension was furnished with no explanations indeed there were none to give the orphan appeared there under the character she so steadily sustained as miss crystal manners the child of illustrious parents lost at sea and so she vanished altogether from the atmosphere of woodford cottage olive rothsay was now straining every nerve towards the completion of her first exhibited picture a momentous crisis in every young artist's life it was march always a pleasant month in this mild sheltered neighborhood where she had made her home There, of all the regions about London, the leaves come earliest, the larks soonest begin to sing, and the first soft spring breezes blow. But nothing could allure Olive from that corner of their large drawing-room which she had made her studio, and where she sat painting from early morning until daylight was spent. The artist herself formed no unpleasing picture, at least so her

Starting point is 05:35:11 fond mother often thought, as Olive stood before her easel, the light from the half-closed-up window slanting downwards on her long curls of that rare pale gold, the delight of the ancient painters, and now the especial admiration of Michael Vanbrough. To please her master, Olive, though now a woman grown, wore her hair still in childish fashion, falling in most artistic confusion over her neck and shoulders. It seemed that nature had bestowed on her this great beauty in order to veil that defect which, though made far less apparent by her maturer growth, and a certain art in dress, could never be removed. Still, there was an inexpressible charm in her purely outlined features, to which the complexion always accompanying pale gold hair imparted such a delicate spiritual coloring.

Starting point is 05:35:58 Oftentimes her mother sat and looked at her, thinking she beheld the very likeness of the angel in her dream. March was nearly past. Olive's anxiety that the picture should be finished, and worthily finished, amounted almost to torture. At last, when there was but one week left, a week whose every hour, of daylight must be spent in work, the hope and fear were at once terminated by her mother's sudden illness. Passing it was, and not dangerous, but to Olive's picture it brought a fatal interruption. The tender mother more than once begged her to neglect everything but the picture, but Olive refused. Yet it cost her somewhat, I, more than Mrs. Rothesay could understand, to give up a year's hopes. She felt this the more when came the Monday and Tuesday for sending in

Starting point is 05:36:43 pictures to the academy. Heavily these days passed, for there was not now the attendance on the invalid to occupy Olive's mind. She was called hither and thither all over the house, since on these two days, for the only time in the year, there was at Woodford Cottage a leve of artists, patrons, and connoisseurs. Miss Rothsay was needed everywhere, first in the painting-room to assist in arranging its various treasures, her taste and tact assisting Mr. Vanbrose artistic skill. For the thousandth time she helped her.

Starting point is 05:37:13 helped to move the easel that sustained the small purchasable picture, with which Michael this year condescended to favor the Academy, and admired, to the painter's heart's content, the beloved and long-to-be-unsold Alcestis, which extended in solitary grandeur over one whole side of the studio. Then she flitted to Miss Vanbrough's room to help her dress for this important occasion. Never was there such a proud, happy little woman as Meliora Vanbrough on the first Monday and Tuesday in April, when at least a dozen carriages usually rolled down the muddy lane, and the great surly dog, kenneled under the mulberry tree, was never silent from more until Dewee Eve. All, thought the delighted Meliora, was an ovation to her brother. Each year she fully expected

Starting point is 05:37:59 that these visiting patrons would buy up every work of art in the studio, to say nothing of those adorning the hall, the cartoons and frescoes of Michael's long-past youth. And each year, when the carriages rolled away, and the visitant's admiration remained nothing but admiration, she consoled herself with the thought that Michael Vanbrough was a man before his age, but that his time for appreciation would surely come. So she hoped on till the next April. Happy Meliora. Yes, you do seem happy, Miss Vanbrough, said Olive, when she had coaxed the stiff, grizzled

Starting point is 05:38:31 hair under a neat cap of her own skillful manufacturing, and the painter's little sister was about to mount guard in the bay window of the parlor, from when, She could see the guests walk down the garden, and be also ready to mark the expression of their faces as they came out of the studio. Happy! To be sure I am! Everybody must confess that this last is the best picture Michael ever painted. His sister had made the same observation every April for twenty years. But my dear Miss Rothsay, how wrong I am to talk so cheerfully to you when your picture is not finished! Never mind, love. You have been a good attentive daughter, and it will end all for the best. olive smiled faintly and said she knew it would perhaps continued meliora as a new and consolatory idea struck her perhaps even if you had sent in the picture it might have been returned or put in the octagon room or among the miniatures where nobody could see it and that would have been much worse would it not

Starting point is 05:39:29 I suppose so, and indeed I will be quite patient and content. Patient she was, but not content. It was scarcely possible. Nevertheless, she quitted Miss Vanbrough with smiles, and when she again sought her mother's chamber it was with smiles too, or at least with that soft sweetness which was in olive like a smile. When she had left Mrs. Rothsay to take her afternoon's sleep, she thought what she was to do to pass away the hours that, in spite of herself,

Starting point is 05:39:57 dragged very wearily. This day was so different to what she had hoped. No eager, delighted last touches to her beloved picture, no exhibiting it in its best light in all the glory of the frame. It lay neglected below. She could not bear to look at it. The day was clear and bright, just the sort of day for painting, but Olive felt that the very sight of the poor picture would be more than she could bear.

Starting point is 05:40:20 She did not go near it, but put on her bonnet and walked out. Courage, hope, sang the larks to her, high up above the green lanes, but her heart was too sad to hear them. A year, a whole year lost, a whole year to wait for the next hope, and a year seemed so long when one has scarcely counted twenty, afterwards how fast it flies. Perhaps, she said, her thoughts taking their color from the general weariness of her spirits, perhaps Miss Vanbrough was right, and I might have had the picture returned. It cannot be very good, or it would not have taken such long and constant labor. they say never toils, all comes by inspiration. It may be that I have no genius. Well, then where is the

Starting point is 05:41:04 use of my laboring to excel? Indeed, where is the use of my living at all? Alas, how little is known of the struggles of young, half-formed genius, struggles not only with the world but with itself, a hopeless, miserable bearing down, a sense of utter unworthiness and self-contempt. At times when the inner life, the soul's lamp, burns dimly, their rise. the piteous moan, fool, fool, why strivest thou in vain? Thou hast deceived thyself, thou art no better than any brainless ass that plods through life. And then the world grows so dull, and one's life seems so worthless, that one would fain blot it out at once. Olive walked beneath this bitter cloud. She said to herself that if her picture had been a work of

Starting point is 05:41:51 genius, it would have been finished long ere the time, and that if she were destined to be an artist, there would not have come this cross. No, all fates were against her. She must be patient and submit, but she felt as if she should never have courage to paint again. And now, when her work had become the chief aim and joy of her life, how hard this seemed! She came home, drearily enough,

Starting point is 05:42:14 for the sunny day had changed to rain, and she was thoroughly wet. But even this was, as Meliora would have expressed it, for the best, since it made her feel the sweetness of having a tender mother to take off her dribb of her dripping. garments and smooth her hair and make her sit down before the bright fire. And then Olive laid her head in her mother's lap, and thought how wrong, nay, wicked she had been. She was thinking thus, even with a few quiet tears, when Miss Meliora burst like a stream of sunshine into the room. Good news! Good news! What? Mr. Vanbrough has sold his picture as you hoped to Mr.—no, not yet.

Starting point is 05:42:52 And the least possible shadow troubled the sister's face. But perhaps he will. And meanwhile, what think you? Something has happened quite as good, at least for somebody else. Guess? Indeed, I cannot. He has sold yours. Olive's face flushed, grew white, and then she welcomed this first success, as many another young aspirant to fame has done, by bursting into tears. So did the easily touched Mrs. Rothsay, and so did the kind Miss Meliora from pure sympathy. Never was good fortune hailed in a more lacrimos fashion. But soon Miss Vanbrough, resuming her smiles, explained how she had placed Olive's nearly finished picture in her brother's studio, where all the visitors had admired it, and one,

Starting point is 05:43:38 a good friend to art and to young struggling artists, had bought it. My brother managed all, even to the payment, the full price you will have when you have completed the picture, and meanwhile, look here! She had filled one hand with golden guineas, and now poured a dain-eye stream into Olive's lap. Then, laughing and skipping about like a child, she vanished, the beneficent little fairy, as swiftly as Cinderella's godmother. Olive sat mute,

Starting point is 05:44:05 her eyes fixed on the bits of shining gold, which seemed to look different to all other pieces of gold that she had ever seen. She touched them, as if half-fearing they would melt away, or, like elfin money, change into withered leaves. Then, brightly smiling, she took them up one by one, and told them into her mother's lap.

Starting point is 05:44:24 Take them, darling, my first earnings, and kiss me, kiss your happy little girl. How sweet was that moment, worth whole years of after-fame. Olive Rothsay might live to bathe in the sunshine of renown, to hear behind her the murmur of a world's praise, but she never could know again the bliss of laying at her mother's feet the first fruits of her genius, and winning as its first and best reward, her mother's proud and happy kiss. You will be quite rich now, my child.

Starting point is 05:44:54 We will be, said Olive softly. And to think that such a great connoisseur as Mr. Should choose my Olive's picture. Ah, she will be a celebrated woman sometime. I always thought she would. I will, said the firm voice in Olive's heart, as, roused to enthusiasm by this sweet first success, she felt stirring within her the spirit

Starting point is 05:45:16 Whose pulses she could not mistake, woman, nay girl as she was. Thinking on her future, the future that, with heaven's blessing, she would nobly work out, her eye dilated and her breast heaved. And then on that wildly heaving bosom strayed a soft, warm hand, a tender voice whispered, My child! And Olive, flinging her arms round her mother's neck, hid her face there, and was a simple, trembling child once more.

Starting point is 05:45:44 It was a very happy evening for them both, almost the happiest in their lives. The mother formed a score of plans of expending this newly won wealth, always to the winners benefit solely, but Olive began to look grave, and at last said, timidly, "'Mama, indeed, I want for nothing, and for this money, let us spend it in a way that will make us both most content. Oh, mother, I can know no rest until we have paid Mr. Gwynne.' The mother sighed. "'Well, love, as you will, it is yours, you know, only a little it pains me that my child's

Starting point is 05:46:17 precious earnings should go to pay that cruel debt. But not that they should go to redeem my father's honor, said Olive, still gently. She had her will. When her picture was finished and its price received, Olive, with a joyful heart, enclosed the sum to their long silent creditor. His name does not look quite so fearful now, she said, smiling when she was addressing the letter. I can positively write it without trembling, and perhaps I may not have to write it many times. If I grow very rich, Mama, we shall soon pay off this debt, and then we shall never hear any more of Harold Gwyn.

Starting point is 05:46:54 Oh, how happy that would be!' The letter went, and an answer arrived in due form, not to Mrs. But to Miss Rothsay. Madam, I thank you for your letter, and have pleasure in cancelling a portion of my claim. I would fain cancel the whole of it, but I must not sacrifice my own household to that of strangers. Allow me to express my deep respect for a child so honorably jealous over a father's memory, and to subscribe myself, your very obedient, Harold Gwynne. He is not so stony-hearted after all, Mama, said Olive, smiling. Shall I put this letter with the other?

Starting point is 05:47:31 We had better keep them both. Certainly, my dear. Look, the envelope is edged and sealed with black. Is it? Oh, perhaps he has lost his mother. I think I once heard your poor papa say he knew her once. She must be now an old woman, still her loss has probably been a grief to her son. Most likely, said Olive hastily.

Starting point is 05:47:51 She never could bear to hear of any one's mother dying. It made her feel compassionately even towards Mr. Gwynne, and then she quickly changed the subject. The two letters were put by in her desk, and thus, for a season at least, the Harbury correspondence closed. End of Chapter 22 Chapter 23 of Olive. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dinah Maria Crake, Chapter 23. Seven summers more the grand old mulberry tree at Woodford Cottage has borne leaf, flower, and fruit. The old dog that used to lie snarling under its branches lies there still, but snarls no more.

Starting point is 05:48:39 Between him and the upper air are two feet of earth, together with an elegant canine tombstone, on which Miss Rothsay, by the entreaty of the disconsolate Meliora, has modelled in clay a very good likeness of the departed. Snap is the only individual who has passed away at Woodford Cottage. In all things else there has been an increase, not a decrease. The peaches and nectarines cover two walls instead of one, and the Climatis has mounted in white virgin beauty even to the roof. Altogether the garden is changed for the better. Trim it is not, and never would be, "'Thanks to Olive, who, a true lover of the picturesque, hated trim gardens. "'But its luxuriance is that of flowers, not weeds, and luxuriant it is,

Starting point is 05:49:23 "'so that every day you might pull for a friend that pleasantest of all pleasant gifts, a nosegay, "'ye and afterwards find that, like charity, the more you gave, the richer was your store. "'Enter from the garden into the drawing-room, and you will perceive a change, too. "'It's dreariness has been softened by many a graceful adjunct of comfort and luxury. Half of it, by means of a crimson screen, is transformed into a painting-room. Olive would have it so, for several reasons, the chief of which was, that whether the young painter's was working or not, Mrs. Rothsay might never be out of the sound of her daughter's voice. For, alas, this same sweet, love-toned voice was all the mother now knew of Olive.

Starting point is 05:50:07 Gradually there had come over Mrs. Rothsay the misfortune which she feared. She was now blind. Relating this, it may seem though we were about to picture a scene of grief and desolation, but not so. A misfortune that steals on year by year, slowly, inevitably, often comes with so light a footstep that we scarcely hear it. In this manner had come Mrs. Rotsay's blindness. Her sight faded so gradually that its deprivation caused no despondency, and the more helpless she grew, the closer she was classed by those supporting arms of filial love which softened all pain, supplied all need, and were to her instead of strength, youth, eyesight. Only one bitterness did she know that she could not see Olive's pictures, not that she understood art at

Starting point is 05:50:55 all, but everything that Olive did must be beautiful. She missed naught else, not even her daughter's face, for she saw it continually in her heart. Perhaps in the gray shadow of a form, which she said her eyes could still trace in the dim haze, she pictured the likeness of an olive ten times fairer than the real one, an olive whose cheek never grew pale with toil, whose brow was never crossed by that cloud of heart-weariness, which all who labor in an intellectual pursuit must know at times. If so, the mother was saved from many of the pangs which visit those who see their beloved ones staggering, under a burden which they themselves have no power either to bear or to take away. And so, in spite of this affliction, the mother and daughter were happy, even quite cheerful sometimes,

Starting point is 05:51:42 For cheerfulness, originally foreign to Olive's nature, had sprung up there. One of those heart-flowers which love, passing by, soes according as they are needed, until they bloom as though indigenous to the soil. To hear Miss Rothsay laugh, as she was laughing just now, you would have thought she was the merriest creature in the world, and had been so all her life. Moreover, from this blithe laugh, as well as from her happy face, you might have taken her for a young maiden of nineteen,

Starting point is 05:52:10 instead of a woman of six-and-twenty, which she really was. But with some, after youth's first sufferings are past, lifestyle seems to run backward. "'My child, how very merry you are, you and Miss Vanbrough,' said Mrs. Rothsay from her corner. "'Well, Mama, and how can we help it? Talking of my charity and the lady who bought it. Would you believe, darling?

Starting point is 05:52:32 She told Miss Vanbrough that she did so because the background was like a view in their park, and the two little children resembled the two young master's Fludyer, fortunate likeness for me. "'I,' said Miss Meliora, "'only my brother would say you were very wrong "'to sell your picture to such stupid people "'who know nothing about art.'

Starting point is 05:52:51 "'Perhaps I was, but,' she added whisperingly, "'you know I have not sold my academy picture yet, "'and my mom must go into the country this autumn.' "'Mrs. Fledier is a very nice, chatty woman,' observed the mother, "'and she talked of her beautiful country seat at Farnwood Hall. "'I think it would do me good to go there, Olive. Well, you know she asked you, dear Mama. Yes, but only for courtesy. She would scarcely be troubled with a guest so helpless as I, said Mrs. Rothsay, half-sying.

Starting point is 05:53:22 In a moment Olive was by her side, talking away, at first softly, and then luring her on to smiles with a merry tale, how Mr. Fludger, when the picture came home, wanted to have the three elder Flediers painted in a row behind charity that thus the allegorical picture might make a complete family group. He also sensed to know if I couldn't paint his horse beauty, and one or two greyhounds also in the same picture. What a comical idea of art this country squire must have. My dear, everyone is not so clever as you, said the mother. I like Mrs. Fludger very much, because whenever she came to Woodford Cottage about the picture, she used to talk to me so kindly. And she has asked after you in all her letters since she went home, so she must be a good

Starting point is 05:54:08 creature, and I too will like her very much indeed, because she likes my sweet mama. The determination was soon called into exercise. For the next half-hour, to the surprise of all parties, Mrs. Fudger appeared. She assigned no reason for her visit, except that being again in town she had chosen to drive down to Woodford Cottage. She talked for half an hour in her mild, limpid way, and then, when the arrival of one of Olive's models broke the quiet leisure of the painting-room, she rose. "'Nay, Miss Rothsay, do not quit your easel. Miss Vanbrough will accompany me through the garden, and besides I wish to speak to her about her

Starting point is 05:54:46 climates. We cannot make them grow in Esh-shire. The hall is perhaps too cold and bleak.' "'Ah, how I love a clear, bracing air,' said Mrs. Rothsay, with the restlessness peculiar to all invalids, and she had been a greater invalid than usual this summer. "'Then you must come down, as I said, you and Miss Rothsay, to Eshire. Our part of the country is very beautiful. I should be most happy to see you at Farnwood.'

Starting point is 05:55:11 She urged the invitation with an easy grace, even cordiality, which charmed Mrs. Rothesay, to whom it brought back the faint reflex of her olden life, the life at Maraville Hall. "'I should like to go, Olive,' she said appealingly. "'I feel dull and want a change.' "'You shall have a change, darling. was the soothing but evasive answer. For Olive had a tincture of the old Rothsay pride, and had formed a somewhat disagreeable idea of the position the struggling artist and her blind mother would fill as charity guests at Farnwood Hall. So, after a little conversation with Mrs. Fludger,

Starting point is 05:55:49 she contrived that the first plan should melt into one more feasible. There was a pretty cottage, the squire's lady said, on the Farnwood estate. Miss Fledier's daily governess had lived there. It was all fitted up. What if Miss Rothera would bring her? her mother there for the summer months. It would be pleasant for all parties. And so very quickly the thing was decided, decided as suddenly and unexpectedly as things are, when it seems as though not human will but destiny held the balance. Mrs. Fludger seemed really pleased and interested. She talked to Miss Meliora less about her Climatis than about her two inmates, a subject equally grateful to the painter's sister. There is something quite charming about Miss Rothsay,

Starting point is 05:56:29 the air and manner of one who has always moved in good society. Do you know who she was? I should apologize for the question, but that a friend of mine, looking at her picture, was struck by the name and desired me to inquire. Meliora explained that she believed Olive's family was Scottish, and that her father was a Captain Angus Rothsay. Captain Angus Rothsay!

Starting point is 05:56:52 I think that was the name mentioned by my friend. Shall I call Olive? Perhaps she knows your friend, observed Meliora. "'Oh, no, Mrs—that is, the lady I allude to, said they were entire strangers, and it was needless to mention her name. Do not trouble Miss Rothsay with my idle inquiry. Many thanks for the Climatis, and good morning, my dear Miss Vanbrough. She ascended her carriage with the easy, smiling grace of one born to fortune,

Starting point is 05:57:19 marrying fortune, and dwelling hand in hand with fortune all her life. Miss Meliora gazed in intense admiration after her departing wheels, and forthwith retired, to plan out of the few words she had let fall a glorious future for her dear Miss Rothsay. There was certainly some unknown wealthy relative who would probably appear next week, and carry off Olive and her mother to affluence, in a carriage as grand as Mrs. Flediers. She would have rushed at once to communicate the news to her friends, had it not been that she was stopped in the garden walk by the apparition of her brother escorting two gentlemen from his studio, a rare courtesy with him.

Starting point is 05:57:58 Meliora accounted for it when, from behind a sheltering espalier, she heard him address one of them as my lord. But when she told this to Olive, the young painter's was of a different opinion. She had heard the name of Lord Arredale, and recognized it as that of a nobleman, on whom his love of art and science shed more honor than his title. That was why Mr. Vanbrough showed him respect, she knew. Certainly, certainly, said Meliora, a little ashamed. But to think that such a clever man and a nobleman, should be so ordinary in appearance. Why he was not half so remarkable looking as the gentleman who accompanied him. What was he like, said Olive, smiling? You would have admired him greatly.

Starting point is 05:58:40 His was just the sort of head you painted for your Aristides the just, your favorite style of beauty. Dark, cold, proud, with such piercing eagle eyes, they went right through me. Olive laughed merrily. Do you hear Mama how she runs on? What a bewitching young hero! "'A hero, perhaps, but not exactly young, and as for bewitching, that he certainly might be, but it was in the fashion of a wizard or a magician. I never felt so nervous at the sight of any one in the whole course of my life.' Here there was a knock at the drawing-room door. "'Come in,' said Olive, and Mr. Vanbrough entered.

Starting point is 05:59:18 For a moment he stood on the threshold without speaking, but there was a radiance in his face, a triumphant dignity in his whole carriage, which struck Olive and his sister with surprise. "'Brother, dear Michael, you are pleased with something. You have had good news.' He passed Meliora by and walked up to Miss Rothsay. "'My pupil rejoice with me. I have found at length appreciation.

Starting point is 05:59:43 My life's aim has won success. I have sold my Alcestis.' Miss Vanbrough rushed towards her brother. Olive Rothsay, full of delight, would have clasped her master's hand, but there was something in his look that repelled them both. His was the triumph of a man who exalted only in and for his art, neither asking nor heeding any human sympathies. Such a look might have been on the face of the great Florentine,

Starting point is 06:00:08 when he beheld the multitude gaze half in rapture, half in awe on his work in the Sistine Chapel. Then, folding his coarse garments round him, walked through the streets of Rome to his hermit dwelling, and sat himself down under the shadow of his desolate renown. Michael Vanbrough continued, "'Yes, I have sold my grand picture, "'the dream, the joy of a lifetime,

Starting point is 06:00:31 "'sold it too, to a man who is worthy to possess it. "'I shall see it in Lord Arrendel's noble gallery. "'I shall know that it at least will remain where, "'after my death, it will keep from oblivion the name of Michael Vanbrough. "'Glorious indeed is this my triumph, "'yet less mine than the triumph of high art. "'Do you not rejoice, my pupil?' "'I do indeed, my dear, my dear.

Starting point is 06:00:54 dear and noble master. And, brother, brother, you will be very rich. The price you asked for the Alcestis was a thousand pounds, said Meliora. He smiled bitterly. You women always think of money. But for your sake only, dear Michael, cried his sister, and her tearful eyes spoke the truth. Poor little soul, she could but go as far as her gifts went, and they extended no farther than to the thought of what comforts would this sum procure for Michael.

Starting point is 06:01:24 A richer velvet gown and cap, like one of the old Italian painters, perhaps a journey to refresh his wearied eyes among lovely scenes of nature. She explained this, looking, not angry, but just a little hurt. A journey, yes, I will take a journey, one which I have longed for these thirty years. I will go to Rome. Once again I will lie on the floor of the Sistine and look up worshippingly to Michael the angel. He always called him so. "'And how long shall you stay, brother?' "'Stay, until my heart grows pulseless and my brain dull. "'Why should I ever come back to this cold England?

Starting point is 06:02:01 "'No, let me grow old, die, and be buried under the shadow of the eternal city.' "'He will never come back again. "'Never,' said Miss Vanbrough, looking at Olive with a vague bewilderment. "'He will leave this pretty cottage and me and everything.' "'There was a dead silence, during which poor Melioux, Meliora sat plating her white apron in fold after fold, as was her habit when in deep and perplexed thought. Then she went up to her brother. "'Michael, if you will take me, I should like to go, too.'

Starting point is 06:02:34 "'What?' cried Mrs. Rothsay. "'You, my dear Miss Vanbrough, who are so thoroughly English, who always said you hated moving from place to place, and would live and die at Woodford Cottage.' "'Hush! Hush! We'll not talk about that lest he should hear,' said Meliora. glancing half frightened at her brother. But he stood absorbed by the window, looking out apparently on the sky, though his eyes saw nothing, nothing.

Starting point is 06:03:01 Michael, do you quite understand? May I go with you to Rome? Very well, very well, sister, he answered, in the tone of a man who is indifferent to the subject, except that consent gives less trouble than refusal. Then he turned towards Olive and asked her to go with him to his painting room. He wanted to consult with her as to the subject.

Starting point is 06:03:21 sort of frame that would suit the Alcestis. Indeed, his pupil had now grown associated with all his pursuits, and had penetrated further into the depths of his inward life than anyone else had been ever suffered to do. Olive gradually became to him his cherished pupil, the child of his soul, to whom he would fain transmit the mantle of his fame. He had but one regret, sometimes earnestly and comically expressed, that she was a woman, only a woman. They went and stood, and stood before the picture, he and Olive, Meliora stealing after her brother's footsteps, noiseless but constant as his shadow, and this ever-following, faithful love, clung so closely to its object that, shadow-like, what all others beheld, by him was never seen. Michael Vanbrugh cast on his

Starting point is 06:04:11 picture a look such as no living face ever had won or ever would win from his cold eyes. It was the gaze of a parent on his child, a lover on his mistress, an idolater on his self-created God. Then he took his palate and began to paint, lingeringly and lovingly, on slight portions of background or drapery, less as though he thought this needed than as if loathed to give the last, the very last touch to a work so precious. He talked all the while, seemingly to hide the emotion which he would not show. Lord Arredale is an honor to his rank.

Starting point is 06:04:46 "'A noble man, indeed. "'One does not often meet such, Miss Rothsay. "'It was a pleasure to receive him in my studio. "'It did me good to talk with him, and with his friend.' "'Here Olive looked at Meliora and smiled. "'Was his friend, then, as agreeable as himself? "'Not so brilliant in conversation, "'but far the higher nature of the two,

Starting point is 06:05:07 "'or I have read the human countenance in vain. "'He said, frankly, that he was no artist, "'and no connoisseur like Lord Arredale, "'but I saw from his eye that, if he did not understand, he felt my picture. How so, said Olive, with growing interest? He looked at Alcestis, the Alcestis I have painted, sitting on her golden throne, waiting for death to call her from her kingdom and her lord,

Starting point is 06:05:32 waiting solemnly, yet without fear. See, said Lord Arredale to his friend, how love makes this feeble woman stronger than a hero, see how fearlessly a noble wife can die. A wife who loves her husband, was the answer, given so bitterly that I turned to look at him. Oh, that I could have painted his head at that instant! It would have made a Heraclitus, a Tyman. And do you know his name? Will he come here again? No, for he was leaving London today. I wish it had not been so, for I would have asked him to sit to me. That grand iron, rigid head of his, with the close curling hair would be a treasure indeed. But who is he,

Starting point is 06:06:14 inquired Meliora. A man of science, well known in the world, too, Lord Arredale said. He told me his name, but I forgot it. However, you may find a card somewhere about. Meliora ran to the mantelpiece and brought one to her brother. Is this it? He nodded. She ran for the light and read aloud.

Starting point is 06:06:34 The Reverend Harold Gwynne. End of Chapter 23. Chapter 24 of Olive. This Librevox recording. is in the public domain. Olive by Dinah Maria Crake Chapter 24 The subject of Harold Gwynne served Olive and her mother

Starting point is 06:06:59 for a full half-hour's conversation during that idle twilight season which they always devoted to pleasant talk. It was a curious coincidence which thus revived in their memories a name now almost forgotten. For, the debt once paid, Mr. Gwynn and all things connected with him

Starting point is 06:07:16 had passed into complete oblivion, save that Olive carefully kept his letters. These, she had the curiosity to take from their hiding-place and examine once more, partly for her mother's amusement, partly for her own, for it was a whim of hers to judge of character by handwriting, and she really had been quite interested in the character which both Miss Vanbrough and her brother had drawn. How strange that he should have been so near us and we not know the fact!

Starting point is 06:07:43 He seems quite to haunt us, to be our evil genius, our Damon! "'Hush, my dear, it is wrong to talk so. Remember, too, that he is Sarah's husband.' Olive did remember it. Justingly, though she spoke, there was in her a remembrance, as mournful as a thing so long-ended could be, of that early friendship, whose falseness had been her loving heart's first blight. She had never formed another. There was a unity in her nature which made it impossible to build the shrine of a second affection on the ruins of the first. She found it so even in life's ordinary ties. What would it have been with her had she ever known the great mystery of love? She never had known it. She had lived all these years with a

Starting point is 06:08:27 heart as virgin as mountain snows. When the one sweet dream which comes to most in early maidenhood the dream of loving and being loved was crushed, her heart drew back within itself, and, after a time of suffering almost as deep as if for the loss of a real object instead of a mere ideal, she prepared herself for her destiny. She went out into society, and there saw men as they are in society, feeble fluttering coxcombs, hard, grovelling men of business, some few men of pleasure or of vice, and floating around all the race of ordinary mankind, neither good nor bad. Out of these classes, the first she merely laughed at, the second she turned from with distaste, the third she abhorred and despised, the fourth she looked upon with a calm indifference.

Starting point is 06:09:16 Some good and clever men she had met occasionally, towards whom she had felt herself drawn with a friendly inclination, but they had always been drifted from her by the ever-shifting currents of society. And these, the exceptions, were chiefly old, or at least elderly persons, men of long-acknowledged talent, wise and respected heads of families. The new generation, the young men out of whose community her female acquaintances were continually choosing lovers and husbands, were much disliked by Olive Rothsay. Gradually, when she saw how mean was the general standard of perfection, how ineffably beneath her own ideal, the man she could have worshipped, she grew quite happy in her own certain lot. She saw her companions wedded to men who from herself would never have won a single

Starting point is 06:10:04 thought, so she put aside forever the half-sad dream of her youth and married herself unto her art. She indulged in some of her sage reflections on men and women, courtship and wedlock in general, when she sat at her mother's feet, talking of Harold Gwynne and of his wife. It could not have been a happy marriage, Mama, if Mr. Gwynn be really the man that Miss Vanbrough and her brother describe, and all day there recurred to Olive's fancy the words, A wife who loved her husband. She, at least, knew too well that Sarah Derwent, when she married could not have loved hers. Wondering's as to what was Sarah's present fate occupied her mind for a long, long time. She had full opportunity for thought, as her mother, oppressed by the

Starting point is 06:10:49 sultry August evening, had fallen asleep with her hand on her daughter's neck, and Olive could not stir for fear of waking her. Slowly she watched the twilight darken into a deeper shadow, that of a gathering thunderstorm. The trees beyond the garden began to sway restlessly about, and then, with the sudden flash and distant thunder-grawl, down came the rain in torrents. Mrs. Rothesay started and woke. Like most timid women she had a great dread of thunder, and it took all Olive's powers of soothing to quiet her nervous alarms. These were increased by another sound that broke through the pouring rain, a violent ringing of the garden bell, which, in Mrs. Rothesay's excited state, seemed a warning of all sorts of horrors. "'The house is on fire! The bolt has struck it!

Starting point is 06:11:36 "'Oh, Olive, Olive, save me!' she cried. "'Hush, darling, you are quite safe with me!' And Olive rose up, folding her arms closely round her mother, who hid her head in her daughter's bosom. They stood, Mrs. Rothsay trembling and cowering, Olive with her pale brow lifted fearlessly, as though she would face all terror, all danger for her mother's sake. Thus they showed, in the faint glimmer of the lightning,

Starting point is 06:12:02 a beautiful picture of filial love, to the eyes of a stranger who that moment opened the door. She was a woman whom the storm had apparently driven in for shelter. "'Is this Miss Vanbrough's house? Is there anyone here?' she asked, her accent being slightly foreign. Olive invited her to enter. "'Thank you. Forgive my intrusion, but I am frightened, half drowned. The thunder is awful. Will you take me in till Miss Vanbrough returns?' A light was quickly procured, and Olive came to divest the stranger of her drownd. dripping garments. Thank you, no, I can assist myself, I always do. And she tried to unfasten her shawl, a rich, heavy fabric and of gaudy colors, when her trembling fingers failed. She knitted

Starting point is 06:12:47 her brows and muttered some sharp exclamation in French. You had better let me help you, said Olive gently, as with a firm hand she took hold of the shivering woman, or girl, for she did not look above seventeen, drew her to a seat, and there disrobed her of her drenched shirt. all. Not until then, did Miss Rothsay pause to consider further about this incognita, arrived in such a singular manner. But when, recovered from her alarm, the young stranger subsided into the very unromantic occupation of drying her wet frock by the kitchen fire, Olive regarded her with no small curiosity. She stood, a picture less of girlish grace than of such grace as French fashion dictates. Her tall, well-rounded form struggled through a painful

Starting point is 06:13:33 compression into slimness. Her whole attire had that peculiar tournour, which we islanders term Frenchified. Nay, there was something in the very tie of her neck ribbon, which showed it never could have been done by English fingers. She appeared all over, a young lady from abroad. We have noticed her dress first, because that was most noticeable. She herself was a fine, tall, well-modelled girl, who would have been graceful had fashion allowed her. She had one beauty, a column-like neck and well-set head, which she carried very loftily. Her features were somewhat large, not pretty, and yet not plain. She had a good mouth and chin. Her eyes were very dark and silk-infringed, but her hair was fair. This peculiarity caught Olive's eye at once, so much so that

Starting point is 06:14:19 she almost fancied she had seen the face before she could not tell where. She puzzled about the matter until the young guest, who seemed to make herself quite at home, had dried her garments and voluntarily proposed that they should return to the drawing-room. They did so, the stranger leading the way, and, much to Olive's surprise, seeming to thread with perfect ease the queer labyrinths of the house. By this time the storm was over, and they found Mrs. Rothsay sitting quietly waiting for tea. The young lady again apologized in her easy, foreign manner, and asked if she might stay with them until Miss Vanbrough's return. Of course her hostess assented, and she talked for above an hour, chiefly of Paris which she said she had just left, of French customs, music and literature.

Starting point is 06:15:06 In the midst of this, Miss Vanbrough's voice was heard in the hall. The girl started, as one does at the sound of some old tune, heard in youth and forgotten for years. Her gaiety ceased. She put her hand before her eyes, but when the door opened she was her old self again. No child frayed with Sprite could have looked more alarmed than Miss Meliora at the sudden vision of this elegant young damsel who advanced towards her. The little old maid was quite overpowered with her stylish bend, her salute, French fashion, cheek to cheek, and her anxious inquiries after Miss Vanbris' health. "'I am quite well, thank you, madam. A friend of Mrs. Rothsay's, I suppose,' was poor Meliora's bewildered reply. "'No, indeed, I have not till now had the pleasure of hearing Mrs. Rothsay's name.

Starting point is 06:15:54 "'My visit was to yourself,' said the stranger, "'evidently enjoying the incognito she had kept, "'for her black eyes sparkled with fun. "'I am happy to see you, madam,' again stammered the troubled Meliora. "'I thought you would be. I came to surprise you. "'My dear Miss Vanbra, have you really forgotten me? "'Then allow me to reintroduce myself. "'My name is Crystal Manners.'

Starting point is 06:16:17 "'Miss Meliora looked as if she could have sunk into the earth. "'Year after year, from the sum left in the bank, She had paid the school bill of her self-assumed charge, but that was all. Afterthoughts, and a few prudish hints given by good-natured friends, had made her feel both ashamed and frightened at having taken such a doubtful protege. Whenever she chanced to think of crystals growing up and coming back a woman, she drove the subject from her mind in absolute alarm. Now the very thing she dreaded had come upon her.

Starting point is 06:16:48 Here was the desolate child returned, a stylish young woman, with no home in the world but that of her soul, friend and protectress. Poor Miss Vanbrough was quite overwhelmed. She sank on a chair. Dear me, I am so frightened. That is, so startled. Oh, Miss Rothsay, what shall I do?

Starting point is 06:17:06 And she looked appealingly to Olive. But between her and Miss Rothsay glided the young stranger. The bright color paled from Crystal's face. Her smile passed into a frown. Then you are not glad to see me. You, the sole friend I have in the world, whom I have traveled a thousand miles to meet. traveled alone and unprotected. You are not glad to see me. I will turn and go back again. I will

Starting point is 06:17:30 leave the house. I will—I—her rapid speech ended in a burst of tears. Poor Meliora felt like a guilty thing. Miss Manners! Crystal, my poor child! I didn't mean that. Don't cry. Don't cry. I am very glad to see you. So are we all? Are we not, Olive? Olive was almost as much puzzled as herself. She had a passing recollection of the death of Miss Miss Miss. manners and of the child's being sent to school, but since then she had heard no more of her. She could hardly believe that the elegant creature before her was the little ragged imp of a child whom she had once seen staring idly down the river. However, she asked no questions, but helped to soothe the girl, and to restore, as far as possible, peace and composure to the

Starting point is 06:18:16 household. They all spent the evening together without any reference to the past. Only once, Crystal, in relating how, as soon as ever her term of education expired, she had almost compelled her governess to let her come to England, and to Miss Vanbrough, said in her proud way, "'It was not to ask a maintenance, for you know my parents left me independent, but I wanted to see you because I believed that, besides taking charge of my fortune, you had been kind to me when a child. How or in what way I cannot clearly remember, for I think,' she added, laughing, that I must have been a very stupid little girl. All seems so dim to me until I went to school.

Starting point is 06:18:55 Can you enlighten me, Miss Vanbrough?' "'Another time, another time, my dear,' said the painter's sister, growing very much confused. "'Well, I thank you all the same, and you shall not find me ungrateful,' said the young lady, kissing Miss Meliora's hand and speaking in a tone of real feeling which would have moved any woman. It quite overpowered Miss Vanbrough, the softest-hearted little woman in the world. She embraced her protege, declaring that she would never part with her. But, she added, with a sudden thought, a thought of intense alarm, what will Michael say? Do not think of that to-night, interposed Olive.

Starting point is 06:19:32 Miss Manners is tired. Let us get her to bed quickly, and we will see what morning brings. The advice was followed, and Crystal disappeared. Not, however, without lavishing on Mrs. and Miss Rothsay a thousand gracious thanks and apologies, with an air and deportment that did infinite honor to the polite instruction of her pension. Mrs. Rothsay, confused with all that had happened, did not ask many questions, but only said as she retired, "'I don't quite like her, Olive. I don't like the tone of her voice, and yet there was something that struck me in the touch of her hand, which is so different in different people.'

Starting point is 06:20:08 "'Hurs is a very pretty hand, Mama. It is quite classic in shape, like poor Papa's which I remember so well. There never was such a beautiful hand as your papa's. He said it descended in the Rothsay family. You have it, you know, my child, observed Mrs. Rothsay. She sighed, but softly. For, after all these years, the widow and the fatherless had learned to speak of their loss without pain, though with tender remembrance. Thinking of him and of her mother, Olive thought, likewise, how much happier was her own lot than that of the orphan girl, who, by her own confession, had never known what it was to remember the love of the dead or to rejoice in the love of the living, and her heart was moved with the pity, nay, even tenderness for crystal manners. When she had assisted

Starting point is 06:20:55 her mother to bed, as she always did, Olive, in passing downstairs, moved by some feeling of interest, listened at the door of the young stranger. She was apparently walking up and down her room with a quick hurried step. Olive knocked, "'Are you quite comfortable? Do you want anything?' "'Who's there? Oh, come in, Miss Rothsay.' Olive entered and found, to her surprise, that the candle was extinguished. "'I thought I heard you moving about, Miss Manners.' "'So I was. I felt restless and could not sleep. I am very tired with my journey, I suppose, and the room is strange to me. Come here. Give me your hand.'

Starting point is 06:21:33 "'You are not afraid, my dear child,' said Olive, remembering that she was indeed little more than a child, though she looked so womanly. You are not frightened. "'rightening yourself in this gloomy old house, "'nor thinking of ghosts and goblins. "'No, no, I was thinking, "'if I must tell the truth,' said the girl, "'with something very like a suppressed sob. "'I was thinking of you and your mother,

Starting point is 06:21:56 "'as I saw you standing when I first came in. "'No one ever clasped me so or ever will. "'Not that I have anyone to blame. "'My father and mother died, "'they could not help dying. "'But if they had just brought me into the world "'and left me, as I have heard some parents have done, "'then I should cry out,

Starting point is 06:22:12 "'Wicked parents! If I grow up heartless, because I have no one to love me, "'and vile because I have none to guide me, my sin be upon your head.' "'She said these words with vehement passion. But Olive answered calmly, "'Hush, Crystal. Let me call you, Crystal, for I am much older than you. "'Lie down and rest. Be loving and you will never want for love. "'Be humble and you will never want for guiding. "'You have good friends here who will care for you very much, I doubt not. "'Be content, my poor tired child.'

Starting point is 06:22:42 She spoke very softly, for the darkness quite obliterated the vision of that stylish damsel who had exhibited her heirs and graces in the drawing-room. As she sat by Crystal's bedside, Olive only felt the presence of a desolate orphan. She said in her heart, Please God, I will do her all the good that lies in my feeble power. Who knows but that in some way or other I may comfort and help this child? So she stooped down and kissed Crystal on the forehead, a tenderness that the girl passionately returned. Then Olive went and lay down by her blind mother's side, with a quiet and a happy heart. End of Chapter 24. Chapter 25 of Olive. This Librevox recording is in the public domain.

Starting point is 06:23:35 Olive by Dinah Maria Crake, Chapter 25. In a week's time, Crystal Manors was fairly domiciled at Woodford Cottage. In what capacity it would be hard to to say, certainly not as Miss Vanbrough's protege, for she assumed toward the little old maid a most benignant air of superiority. Mr. Vanbrough she privately christened the old ogre and kept as much out of his way as possible. This was not difficult, for the artist was too much wrapped up in himself to meddle with any domestic affairs. He seemed to be under some mystification that the lively French girl was a guest of Miss Rothsays, and his sister ventured not to break this delusion. Crystal's surname created no suspicions. The very name of his former model, Celia Manners,

Starting point is 06:24:21 had long since passed from his memory. So the young visitor made herself quite at home, amused the whole household with her vivacity, clinging especially to the Rothsay portion of the establishment. She served Olive as general assistant in her studio, model included, or at least as lay figure, for she was too strictly fashionable to be graceful in form, and not quite beautiful enough in face to attract an artist's notice. But she did very well, and she amused Mrs. Rothsay all the while with her gay French songs, so that Olive was glad to have her near. The day after Crystal's arrival, Miss Vanbra had summoned her chief state counsellor Olive Rothesay to talk over the matter. Then and there Meliora unfolded all she knew and all she

Starting point is 06:25:04 guessed of the girl's history. How much of this was to be communicated to Crystal she wished Olive to decide, and Olive, remembering what had passed between them on the first night of her coming, advised that, unless Crystal herself imperatively demanded to know, there should be maintained on the subject a kindly silence. Her parents are dead, of that she is persuaded, Olive urged. Whoever they were they have carefully provided for her. If they erred or suffered, let neither their sin nor their sorrow go down to their child. It shall be so, said the good Meliora, and since Crystal asked no further questions, and indeed her lively nature seemed unable to receive any impressions, save of the present, the subject was not again referred to. But the time came when the little household must be broken up. Mr. Vambra announced that in one fortnight he must leave Woodford Cottage on his journey to Rome.

Starting point is 06:25:57 He never thought of such mundane matters as letting the house or disposing of the furniture. He left all those things to his active little sister, who was busy from morning till night. I, often again from night till morning. When Michael commanded anything it must be done, if within human possibility, and there never was anyone to do it but Meliora. She did it always. How, he never asked or thought. He was so accustomed to her ministrations that he no more noticed them than he did the daylight. Had the light suddenly gone, then, Michael Vanbrough would have known what it once had been. Ere the prescribed time had quite expired, Miss Vanbrough announced that all was arranged for their leaving Woodford Cottage. Her brother had nothing to do but to pack up his

Starting point is 06:26:42 easels and his pictures, and this duty was quite absorbing enough to one who had no existence beyond his painting-room. There was one insuperable difficulty which perplexed Meliora. What was to be done with Crystal Manners? She troubled herself about the matter night and day. At last she hinted something of it to the girl herself, and Miss Manners at once decided the question by saying, I will not go to Rome. She was of a strange disposition, as they had already found out. With all her volatile gaiety, when she chose to say I will, she was as firm as a rock. No persuasions, no commands could move her. In this case none were tried. Her fortunes seemed to arrange themselves. For Mrs. Fludger, coming in one day to make the final arrangements for the

Starting point is 06:27:27 Rothesay's arrival at Farnwood, took a vehement liking to the young French lady, as Miss Manners was generally considered, and requested. that Mrs. Rothsay would bring her down to Farnwood. Olive demurred a little, lest the intrusion of a constant inmate might burden her mother, but the plan was at last decided upon, Crystal's own entreaties having no small influence in turning the scale. Thus all things settled, there came the final parting of the two little families who for so many years had lived together in peace and harmony. The Rothses were to leave one day, the Vanbras the next. Olive and Meliora were both very busy, too busy to have time for regrets.

Starting point is 06:28:04 They did not meet until evening, when Olive saw Miss Vanbrough quietly and sorrowfully watering her flowers, with a sort of mechanical interest. The interest of a mother, who meekly goes on arranging all things for the comfort and adornment of the child from whom she is about to separate. It made Olive sad. She went into the garden and joined Meliora. "'Let me help you, dear Miss Vanbrough. Why should you tire yourself thus, after all the fatigues of the day?'

Starting point is 06:28:30 Maliora looked up. "'Ah, true, true, I shall never do this any more, I know. But the poor flowers must not suffer. I'll take care of them while I can. Those dahlias that I have watched all the year want watering every night and will-do for a month to come. A month! Oh, Miss Rothsay, I am very foolish, I know, but it almost breaks my heart to say good-bye to my poor little garden.' Her voice faltered and at last her tears began to fall, not bitterly but in a quiet, gentle way,

Starting point is 06:29:00 like the dropping of evening rain. However, she soon recovered herself, and began to talk of her brother and of Rome. She was quite sure that there his genius would find due recognition, and that he would rival the old masters in honor and prosperity. She was content to go with him, she said. Perhaps the warm climate would suit her better than England, now that she was growing,

Starting point is 06:29:22 not exactly old, for she was much younger than Michael and he had half a lifetime of fame before him, but still older than she had been. The language would be a trouble, but then she was already beginning to learn it, and she had always been used to accommodate herself to everything. She was quite certain that this plan of Michaels would turn out for the good of both. And as for the poor old cottage, when you return to London you will come and see it sometimes, and write me word how it looks.

Starting point is 06:29:47 You can send a bit of the Climatis in a letter, too, and who knows, but if you get a very rich lady, you may take the whole cottage yourself some day and live here again. "'Perhaps, if you will come back from Rome and visit me here,' said Olive, smiling, for she was glad to encourage any cheerful hope. "'No, no, I shall never leave Michael. I shall never leave Michael.' She said these words over to herself many times, and then took up her watering-pot and went on with her task. Her affectionate companion followed her for some time, but Miss Vanbrough did not seem disposed

Starting point is 06:30:19 to talk, so Olive returned to the house. She felt in that unquiet, dreary state of mind which precedes a great change, when all preparations are complete and there is nothing left to be done, but to ponder on the coming parting. She could not rest anywhere, or compose herself to anything, but wandered about the house, thinking of that last day at Old Church, and vaguely speculating when or what the next change would be. She passed into the drawing-room, where Crystal was amusing Mrs. Rothsay with her foreign ditties, and then she went to Mr. Vanbrough's studio to have a last talk about art with her old master.

Starting point is 06:30:54 He was busily engaged in packing up his cast and remaining pictures. He just acknowledged his pupil's presence and received her assistance, as he always did with perfect indifference. For, from mere carelessness, Vanbra had reduced the womankind about him to the condition of perfect slaves. There, that will do. Now bring me the great treasure of all, the bust of Michael the angel. She climbed on a chair and lifted it down, carefully and reverentially, so is greatly to please the artist.

Starting point is 06:31:23 Thank you, my pupil. You are very useful. I cannot tell what I should do without you. You will have to do without me very soon, was Olive's gentle and somewhat sorrowful answer. This is my last evening in this dear old studio, my last talk with you, my good and kind master. He looked surprised and annoyed. Nonsense, child!

Starting point is 06:31:43 If I am going to roam, you are going to. I thought Meliora would arrange all that." Olive shook her head. No, Mr. Vanbrough, indeed it is impossible. What, not go with me to Rome? You, my pupil, unto whom I meant to unfold all the glorious secrets of my art. Olive Rothsay, are you dreaming? He cried angrily.

Starting point is 06:32:03 She only answered him softly, that all her plans were settled, and that much as she should delight in seeing Rome, she could not think of leaving her mother. Your mother! What right have we artists to think of any time? of kindred, or to allow them for one moment to weigh in the balance with our noble calling. I say ours, for I tell you now what I never told you before, that though you are a woman, you have a man's soul, I am proud of you, I designed to make for you a glorious future.

Starting point is 06:32:30 Even in this scheme I mingled you. How we should go together to the city of art, dwell together, work together, master and pupil. What great things we should execute! We should be like the brother's Karachi, like Titian with his scholar and adopted son. Would that you had not been a woman, that I could have made you my son in art and given you my name, and then died, bequeathing to you the mantle of my glory? His rapid and excited language softened into something very like emotion. He threw himself into his painting chair and waited for Olive's answer. It came brokenly, almost with tears.

Starting point is 06:33:05 My dear, my noble master, to whom I owe so much what can I say to you? That you will go with me, that when my failing age needs your young hand. hand it shall be ready, and that so the master's waning powers may be forgotten in the scholar's rising fame. Olive answered nothing but, My mother! My mother, she would not quit England. I could not part from her.

Starting point is 06:33:29 Fool, said Vanbrough roughly. Does a child never leave a mother? It is a thing that happens every day. Girls do it always when they marry. He stopped suddenly and pondered. Then he said hastily, Child, go away, you have made me angry. I would be alone.

Starting point is 06:33:44 I will call you when I want you. She disappeared, and for an hour she heard him walking up and down his studio with heavy strides. Soon after there was a pause. Olive heard him call her name and quickly answered the summons. His anger had vanished. He stood calmly, leaning his arm on the mantelpiece, the lamplight falling on the long, unbroken lines of his velvet gown, and casting a softened shadow over his rugged features. There was majesty, even grace in his attitude, and his aspect bore a certain dignified

Starting point is 06:34:14 serenity that well became him. He motioned his young pupil to sit down, and then said to her, Miss Rothsay, I wish to talk to you as a sensible and noble woman. There are such I know and such I believe you to be. I also speak as to one like myself, a true follower of our divine art, who to that one great aim would bend all life's purposes as I have done. He paused a moment, and seeing that no answer came, continued, All these years you have been my pupil. and have become necessary to me and to my art. To part with you is impossible. It would disorganize all my plans and hopes.

Starting point is 06:34:52 There is but one way to prevent this. You are a woman. I cannot take you for my son, but I can take you for—my wife." Utterly astounded, Olive heard. "'Your wife! I—your wife!' was all she murmured. "'Yes, I ask you, not for my own sake, but for that of our noble art. I am a man long past my youth, perhaps even a stern, rude man. I cannot give you love, but I can give

Starting point is 06:35:20 you glory. Living I can make of you such an artist as no woman ever was before. Dying, I can bequeath to you the immortality of my fame. Answer me. Is this nothing? I cannot answer. I am bewildered. Then listen, you are not one of those foolish girls who would make sport of my gray hairs. I will be very tender over you, for you have been good to me. I will learn how to to treat you with the mildness that women need. You shall be like a child to my old age. You will marry me, then, Olive Rothsay. He walked up to her and took her hand, gravely, though not without gentleness, but she shrank away. I cannot. I cannot. It is impossible. He looked at her one moment, neither an angry reproach nor in wounded tenderness, but with a stern,

Starting point is 06:36:07 cold pride. I have been mistaken. Pardon me. Then he quitted her, walked back to his position, near the hearth and resumed his former attitude. There was silence. Afterwards Michael Vanbrough felt his sleeve touched and saw beside him the small, delicate figure of his pupil. Mr. Vanbrough, my dear master and friend, look at me, and listen to what I have to say. He moved his head assentingly, without turning round. I have lived, Olive continued, for six and twenty years and no one has ever spoken to me of marriage. I did not dream that anyone ever would, but since you have thus spoken I can only answer as I have answered and you are in the same mind still I am not because of your age or of my youth but because you have as you say no love to give me nor have I loved to bring to you therefore for me to marry you would be a sin as you will as you will I thought you a kindred genius I find you a mere woman jest on at the old fool with his gray hairs go and wed some young

Starting point is 06:37:13 gay. Look at me, said Olive, with a mournful meaning in her tone. Am I likely to marry? I have spoken ill, said Vanbrough, in a touched and humbled voice. Nature has been hard to us both. We ought to deal gently with one another. Forgive me, Olive. He offered her his hand. She took it and pressed it to her heart. Oh, that I could be still your pupil, your daughter! My dear, dear master, I will never forget you while I live. Be it so. He moved away and sat down, leaning his head upon his hand. Who knows what thoughts might have passed through his mind, regretful, almost remorseful thoughts of that bliss which he had lost or scorned, life's crowning sweetness, woman's love. Olive went up to him. I must go now.

Starting point is 06:38:02 You will bid me good-bye, will you not, gently, kindly? You will not think the worse of me for what has passed this night, and she knelt down beside him, pressing her lips to his hand. He stooped and kissed her forehead. It was the first and last kiss that, since boyhood, Michael Vanbrough ever gave to woman. Then he stood up, the great artist only. In his eye was no softness but the pride of genius, genius, the mighty, the daring, the eternally alone. Go, my pupil, and remember my parting words. Fame is sweeter than all pleasure. stronger than all pain, we give unto art our life, and she gives us immortality. As Olive went out, she saw him still standing, stern, motionless, with folded arms and majestic

Starting point is 06:38:51 eyes, like a solitary rock whereon no flowers grow, but on whose summit heaven's light continually shines. End of Chapter 25. Chapter 26 of Olive. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dinah Maria Crake Chapter 26 "'Well, darling, how do you feel in our new home?' said Olive to her mother, when, after a long and weary journey, the night came down upon them at Farnwood,

Starting point is 06:39:28 the dark, gusty autumn night, made wildly musical by the neighborhood of dense woods. "'I feel quite content, my child. I am always content everywhere with you, and I like the wind. It helps me to imagine the sort of country we are in.' "'A forest country, hilly and bleak. "'We drove through miles of forestland, "'over roads carpeted with fallen leaves. "'The woods will look glorious this autumn time.' "'That will be very pleasant, my child,' said Mrs. Rothsay,

Starting point is 06:39:56 "'who was so accustomed to see with Olive's eyes, "'and to delight in the vivid pictures painted by Olive's eloquent tongue, "'that she never spoke like a person who was blind. "'Even the outward world was to her no blank of desolation. "'Wherever they went, every beautiful place or thing or person that Olive saw, she treasured in memory. I must tell Mama of this, or I must bring Mama here and paint the view for her. And so she did, in words so rich and clear, that the blind mother often said she enjoyed

Starting point is 06:40:28 such scenes infinitely more than when the whole wide earth lay open to her unregardful eyes. I wonder, said Olive, what part of S-shire we are in. We really might have been fairy-guided hither. We seem only aware that our journey began in London and ended at Farnwood. I don't know anything about the neighborhood. Never mind the neighborhood, dear, since we are settled, you say, in such a pretty house. Tell me, is it like Woodford Cottage? Not at all. It is quite modern and comfortable.

Starting point is 06:40:58 And they have made it all ready for us, just as if we were come to a friend's house on a visit. How kind of Mrs. Fludger? Nay, I'm sure Mrs. Fludger never knew how to arrange a house in her life. "'She had no hand in the matter, trust me,' observed the sharply observant crystal. "'Well, then, it is certainly the same guiding fairy who has done this for us, too, "'and I am very thankful to have such a quiet, pleasant coming home.' "'I too feel it like coming home,' said Mrs. Rothsay, in a soft, weary voice. "'Aolive, love, I am glad the journey is over. It has been almost too much for me.

Starting point is 06:41:32 "'We will not go back to London yet a while. We will stay here a long time.' "'As long as ever you like, darling, and now shall I show you the house?' "'Showing the house implied a long description of it, in Olive's blithest language, as they passed from room to room. It was a pretty commodious dwelling, perhaps the prettiest portion of which was the chamber, which Miss Rothsay appropriated as her mother's and her own. It is a charming sleeping room, with its white draperies and its old oak furniture, and the quaint pier-glass stuck round with peacock's feathers country fashion and there mamma are some prince a raising of lazarus though not quite so grand as my beloved sebastian del and here are views from my own beautiful scotland a highland lock and edinburgh castle and oh mamma there is grand old sterling the place where i was born our good fairy might have known the important fact for lo she has adorned the mantelpiece with two great bunches of heather in honour of me i suppose how pleasant

Starting point is 06:42:33 yes but i am weary love i wish i were in bed and at rest this was soon accomplished and olive sat down by her mother's side as she often did waiting until mrs rothsay fell asleep she sat looking about her mechanically as one does when taking possession of a strange room curiously her eye marked every quaint angle in the furniture which would in time become so familiar then she thought as one of dreamy mood is apt to do under such circumstances of how many times she should lay her head down on the pillow in this same room and when and how would be the last time for to all things on earth must come a last time but waking herself out of such pondering she turned to look at her mother the delicate placid face lay in the stillness of deep sleep a stillness that sometimes startles one from its resemblance to another and more solemn repose while she was yet yet yet yet yet yetalus one from its resemblance to another and more solemn repose while she was While she looked, a pain entered the daughter's heart. To chase it thence, she stooped and softly kissed the face which to her was and ever had been the most beautiful in the world, and then, following the train of her former musings, came the thought that one day, it might be far distant, but still in all human probability it must come. She would kiss her mother's brow for the last time.

Starting point is 06:43:53 A moment's shiver, a faint prayer and the thought passed. But long afterwards she remained, remembered it, and marveled that it should have first come to her then and there. The morning that rose at Farnwood Dell, so the little house was called, was one of the brightest that ever shone from September skies. Olive felt cheerful as the day, and as for Crystal, she was perpetually running in and out, making the wonderful discoveries of a young damsel who had never in all her life seen the real country. She longed for a ramble, and would not let Olive rest until the exploit was determined on. It was to be a longest, walk, the appointed goal being a beacon that could be seen for miles, a church on the top of a hill.

Starting point is 06:44:34 Olive quite longed to go thither because it had been the first sight at Farnwood on which her eyes had rested. Looking out from her chamber window at the early morning, she had seen it gleaming goldenly in the sunrise. All was so new, so lovely, it had made her feel quite happy, just as though with that first sunrise at Farnwood had dawned a new era in her life. Many times during the day she looked at the hill church. She would have asked about it had there been anyone to ask, so she determined that her first walk should be thither. The graceful spire rose before them, guiding them all the way, which did not seem long to Olive, who reveled in the beauties unfolded along their lonely walk, a winding road, bounding the forest, on whose verge the

Starting point is 06:45:17 hill stood. But Crystal's Parisian feet soon grew wearied, and when they came to the ascent of the hill she fairly sat down by the roadside. I will go into this, cottage and rest until you come back, Miss Rothsay, and you need not hurry, for I shall not be able to walk home for an hour, said the willful young lady, as she quickly vanished, and left her companion to proceed to the church alone. Slowly Olive wound up the hill, and through a green lane that led to the churchyard, there seemed a pretty little village close by, but she was too tired to proceed further. She entered the churchyard, intending to sit down and rest on one of the gravestones, but at the wicket gate she paused to look around at the wide expanse of country

Starting point is 06:45:58 that lay beneath the afternoon sunshine, a peaceful earth, smiling back the smile of heaven. The old grey church, with its circle of gigantic trees, shut out all signs of human habitation, and there was no sound, not even the singing of birds, to break the perfect quiet that brooded around. Olive had scarcely ever seen so sweet a spot. Its sweetness passed into her soul, moving her even to tears. From the hilltop she looked on the wide verdant plain, then up into the sky, and wished for dove's wings to sail out into the blue. Never had she so deeply felt how beautiful was earth and how happy it might be made. And was Olive not happy? She thought of all those whose forms had moved

Starting point is 06:46:41 through her life's picture. Very beautiful to her heart they were, beautiful and dearly loved, but now it seemed as though there was one great want, one glorious image that should have arisen above them all, melting them into a grand harmonious hole. Half conscious of this want, Olive thought, I wonder how it would have been with me had I ever penetrated that great mystery which crowns all life, had I ever known love. The thought brought back many of her conversations with Michael, and his belief that the life of the heart and that of the brain, one so warm and rich, the other so solitary and cold, can rarely exist together. Towards the latter her whole destiny seemed now turning. It may be true, perchance all is well, let me think so. If on earth I must

Starting point is 06:47:30 ever feel this void, may it be filled at last in the afterlife with God. She pondered thus, but the meditations oppressed her. She was rather glad to have them broken by the appearance of a little girl, who entered from a wicket gate at the other end of the churchyard, and walked, very slowly and quietly, to a gravestone near where Miss Rothsay stood. Olive approached, but the But the child, a thoughtful-looking little creature of about eight years old, did not see her until she came quite close. "'Do not let me disturb you, my dear,' said she gently, as the little girl seemed shy and frightened and about to run away.

Starting point is 06:48:06 But Miss Rothsay, who loved all children, began to talk to her, and very soon succeeded in conquering the timidity of the pretty little maiden, for she was a pretty creature. of especially admired her eyes, which were large and dark, the sort of eyes she had always loved for the sake of Sarah Derwent. Looking into them now, she seemed carried back once more to the days of her early youth and of that long-vanished dream. "'Are you fond of coming here, my child?' "'Yes, whenever I can steal quietly away, out of sight of papa and grandmamma, they do not forbid me, else you know I ought not to do it, but they say it is not good

Starting point is 06:48:42 for me to stay thinking here and send me to go and play.' "'And why had you rather come and sit here than play?' "'Because there is a secret, and I want to try and find it out. "'I dare not tell you, for you might tell Papa and Grant-Mama, and they would be angry.' "'But your Mama! You surely could tell Mama. I always tell everything to mine. "'Do you? And have you got a Mama? Then perhaps you could help me in finding out all about mine.' "'You must know,' added the child, lifting up her eager face with an air of mystery. When I was very little I lived away from here.

Starting point is 06:49:16 I never saw my mama, and my nurse always told me that she had gone away. A little while since, when I came here, my home is there, and she pointed to what seemed the vicarage house, glimmering whitely through the trees. They told me Mama was here under this stone, but they would tell me nothing more. Now what does it all mean? Olive perceived by these words that the child was playing upon her mother's grave, only it seemed strange that she should have been left so entirely ignorant with regard to the great mysteries of death and immortality. Miss Rothsay was puzzled what to answer.

Starting point is 06:49:50 "'My child, if your mama be here, it is her body only.' And Olive paused, startled at the difficulty she found in explaining in the simplest terms the doctrine of the soul's immortality. At last she continued, "'When you go to sleep, do you not often dream of walking in beautiful places and seeing beautiful things, and the dreams are so happy that you would not mind whether you slept on your soft bed or on the hard ground. Well, so it is with your mama. Her body has been laid down to sleep, but her mind, her spirit is flying far away in beautiful dreams. She never feels at all that she is lying in her grave under the ground. But how long will her body lie there, and will it ever wake? Yes, it will surely wake, though how soon we know not and be taken up to heaven and to God.

Starting point is 06:50:37 The child looked earnestly in Olive's face. "'What is heaven, and what is God?' Miss Rothsay's amazement was not unmingled with horror. Her own religious faith had dawned so imperceptibly, at once an instinct and a lesson, that there seemed something awful in this question of an utterly untaught mind. "'My poor child,' she said, "'do you not know who is God? Has no one told you?'

Starting point is 06:51:02 "'No one.' "'Then I will.' "'Pardon me, madam,' said a man's voice. voice behind, calm, cold, but not unmusical, but it seems to me that a father is the best teacher of his child's face. "'Papa, it is papa!' With a look of shyness almost amounting to fear, the child slid from the tombstone and ran away.

Starting point is 06:51:23 Olive stood face to face with the father. He was a gentleman, a true gentleman. At the first glance anyone would have given him that honorable and rarely earned name. His age might be about thirty-five, but his face was cast in the first man. the firm, rigid mould over which years pass and leave no trace. He might have looked as old as now, at twenty, at fifty he would probably look little older. Handsome he was, as Olive discerned at a glance, but there was something in him that controlled her much more than mere beauty would have done. It was a grave dignity of presence, which indicated that mental sway which some

Starting point is 06:51:59 men are born to hold, first over themselves and then over their kind. Wherever he came, he seemed to say, I rule, I am master here. Olive Roth say, innocent as she was of any harm to this gentleman or to his child, felt as cowed and humbled as if she had done wrong. She wished she could have fled like the little girl, fled out of reach of his searching glance. He waited for her to speak first, but she was silent. Her color rose to her very temples. She knew not whether she ought to apologize, or to summon her woman's dignity and meet the stranger with a demeanor like his own. She was relieved when the sound of his voice broke the pause. I fear I startled you, madam, but I was not at first aware who was talking to my little girl. Afterwards,

Starting point is 06:52:46 the few words of yours which I overheard induced me to pause. What words? About sleep and dreams and immortality? Your way of putting the case was graceful, poetical. Whether a child would apprehend it or not is another question. Olive was surprised at the half sarcastic, half-earnest way in which he said this. She longed to ask what motive he could have had in bringing the child up in such total ignorance of the first principles of Christianity. The stranger seemed to divine her question and answer it. No doubt you think it's strange that my little daughter is so ill-informed in some theological points, and still more that I should have stopped you when you were kind enough to instruct her thereon. But being a father, to say nothing of a clergyman,

Starting point is 06:53:30 "'Aulive looked at him in some surprise, "'and found that her interlocutor bore, in dress at least, a clerical appearance. "'I choose to judge for myself in some things, "'and I deem it very inexpedient that the feeble mind of a child "'should be led to dwell on subjects which are beyond the grasp of the profoundest philosopher. "'But not beyond the reverent faith of a Christian,' Olive ventured to say. "'He looked at her with his piercing eyes and said eagerly, "'You think so, you feel so.'

Starting point is 06:53:59 then recovering his old manner certainly of course that is the great beauty of a woman's religion she pauses not to reason she is always ready to believe therefore you women are a great deal happier than the philosophers it was doubtful from his tone whether he meant this in compliment or in sarcasm but olive replied as her own true and pious spirit prompted it seems to me that while the intellect comprehends the heart or rather the soul is the only fountain of belief Without that, could a man dive into the infinite until he became as an angel in power and wisdom? Could he, by searching, find out God, still he could not believe. Do you believe in God? I love him. She said no more, but her countenance spoke the rest, and her companions saw it. He stood as silently gazing as a man who in the desert comes face to face with an angel.

Starting point is 06:54:55 Olive recollecting herself blushed deeply. I ought to apologize for speaking so freely of these things to a stranger and a clergyman, in this place, too. Can there be a fitter place, or one that so sanctifies and at the same time justifies this conversation, was the answer, as the speaker glanced round the quiet domain of the dead. Then Olive remembered where they stood, that she was talking to the husband over his lost wife's tomb. The thought touched her with sympathy for this man, whose words, though so earnest, were yet so piercing. He seemed as though it were his habit to tear away every flimsy veil in order to behold the shining

Starting point is 06:55:34 image of truth. They were silent for a moment, and then he resumed with a smile, the first that had yet lightened his face, and which now cast on it an inexpressible sweetness. Let me thank you for talking so kindly to my little daughter. I trust I have sufficiently explained why I interrupted your lessons. Still it seems strange, said Olive, and strong interest conquering her difficulty. she asked how he, a clergyman, had possibly contrived to keep the child in such utter ignorance. "'She has not lived much with me,' he answered.

Starting point is 06:56:07 "'My little Ely has been brought up in complete solitude. It was best for a child whose birth was soon followed by her mother's death.' Olive trembled lest she had opened a wound, but his words and manner had the grave composure of one who speaks of any ordinary event. Whatever grief he had felt, it evidently was healed. an awkward pause, during which Miss Rothsay tried to think in what way she could best end the conversation. It was broken at last by little Ely, who crept timidly across the churchyard to her father. Please, Papa, Grand Mama wants to see you before she goes out.

Starting point is 06:56:41 She is going to John Dent's and to Farnwood and—hush, little chatterbox! This lady cannot be interested in our family revelations. Bid her good afternoon and come. He tried to speak playfully, but it was a rigid playfulness. Though a father, it was evident he did not understand children. Bowing to Olive with a stately acknowledgment, he walked on alone towards the little wicket gate. She noticed that his eye never turned back, either to his dead wife's grave or to his living child. Ely, while his shadow was upon her, had been very quiet.

Starting point is 06:57:15 When he walked away, she sprang up, gave Olive one of those rough, sudden childish embraces which are so sweet, and then bounded away after her father. Miss Rothsay watched them both disappear, and then was seized with an eager impulse to know who were this strange father and daughter. She remembered the tombstone, the inscription of which she had not yet seen, for it was half hidden by an overhanging cornice, and by the tall grass that grew close by. Olive had to kneel down in order to decipher it. She did so, and read, Sarah, wife of the Reverend Harold Gwynne, died, aged 21. Then the turf she knelt on covered Sarah.

Starting point is 06:57:56 The kiss yet warm on her lips was given by Sarah's child. Olive bowed her face in the grass, trembling violently. Far, far through long divided years, her heart fled back to its olden tenderness. She saw again the thorn tree and the garden walk, the beautiful girlish face with its frank and constant smile. She sat down and wept over Sarah's grave. Then she thought of little Ely. Oh, would that she had known this sooner, that she might have closer classed the motherless child and have seen poor Sarah's likeness shining from her daughter's eyes. With a yearning impulse Olive rose up to follow the little girl, but she remembered the father. How strange,

Starting point is 06:58:38 how passing strange, that he with whom she had been talking, towards whom she had felt such an awe and yet a vague attraction should have been Sarah's husband, and the man whose influence had curiously threaded her own life for many years. She felt glad that the mystery was now solved, that she had at last seen Harold Gwynne. End of Chapter 26. Chapter 27 of Olive. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dinah Maria Crake. Chapter 27. Miss Rothsay was very sorry. violent during the walk home. She accounted for it to Crystal by telling the simple truth, that in the churchyard she had found the grave of an early and dear friend. Her young companion looked serious, condoled in set fashion, and then became absorbed in the hateful labyrinths of the

Starting point is 06:59:37 muddy road. Certainly Miss Manners was never born for a simple rustic. Olive could not help remarking this. No, I was born for what I am, answered the girl proudly. My parents were aristocrats, So am I. Don't lecture me. Wrong or right I always felt thus, and always shall. If I have neither friends nor relatives, I have at least my family and my name. She talked thus, as she did sometimes, until they came to the garden gate of Farnwood Dell. There stood an elegant carriage. Crystal's eyes brightened at the sight, and she trod with a more patrician air. The maid, a parting bequest of Miss Meliora's, and who had long and faithfully served at Woodford Cottage, came anxiously to communicate that there were two ladies waiting.

Starting point is 07:00:26 One of them she did not know. The other was Mrs. Fledger. The latter would have disturbed Mrs. Rothsay, Hannah added, but the other lady said, no, they would wait, were at Olive's heart inclined towards the other lady. She went in and found, with Mrs. Fludger, an ancient dame of large and goodly presence. Aged though she seemed, her tall figure was not bent, and Dick, is to the old what grace is to the young. She stood a little aside and did not speak, but Olive, laboring under the weight of Mrs. Fledger's gracious inquiries, felt that the old lady's eyes were carefully reading her face. At last Mrs. Fledger made a motion of introduction. "'No, I thank you,' said the stranger, in the unmistakable northern tongue, which,

Starting point is 07:01:14 falling from poor Elspie's lips had made the music of Olive's childhood, and to which her heart yearned evermore. Miss Roth say, will you, for your father's sake, let me shake hands with his child? I am Mrs. Gwynn. Thus it was that Olive received the first greeting of Harold's mother. It startled, overpowered her. She had been so much agitated that day. She was surprised into that rare weakness, a hearty, even childish burst of tears. Mrs. Gwynn came up to her, with a softness almost motherly. You are pained, Miss Roth, say, you remember the past, but I have now come to hope that everything may be forgotten, save that I was your father's old friend. For our Scottish friendship, like our pride, descends from generation to generation. Fortune has made us neighbors.

Starting point is 07:02:03 Let us then be friends. It is my earnest wish, and that of my son, Harold. Your son, echoed Olive, and then, half-bewildered by all these adventures, coincidences, and de claircissement, she told how she had already met him, and how that meeting had shown to her her old companion's grave. That is strange, too. Never while she lived did Mrs. Harold Gwynn mention your name, and you loved her so. Well, t'was like her. Like her, muttered Harold's mother, but peace be with the dead.

Starting point is 07:02:35 She walked up and laid her hand on Olive's shoulder. My dear, I am an old woman. Excuse my speaking plainly. You know nothing of me and of my son, save what is harsh and painful. Forget all this, and remember only that I loved your father when he was quite a child, and that I am prepared to love his daughter, if she so choose. You must not think I am taking a hasty fancy. We Scottish folk rarely do that.

Starting point is 07:03:01 But I have learnt much about you lately, more than you guess, and have recognised in you the little olive of whom Angus Rothesay told me so much only a few days before his death. "'Did you see, my dear father, then? "'Did he talk of me?' cried Olive eagerly. "'As, forgetting all the painful remembrances attached to the Gwynne family, "'she began to look at Harold's mother almost with affection. "'But Mrs. Gwynn, who had unfolded herself in a way most unusual,

Starting point is 07:03:28 "'now was relapsing into reserve. "'We will talk of this another time, my dear. "'Now I should much desire to see Mrs. Rothsay.' "'Aulive went to fetch her. "'How she contrived to explain, all that had transpired, she never clearly knew herself. However, she succeeded, and shortly reappeared with her mother leaning on her arm. And, beholding the pale, worn, but still graceful woman, who, with her sightless eyes cast down, clung to her soul's stay, her devoted child,

Starting point is 07:04:00 Mrs. Gwynne seemed deeply moved. There was even a sort of deprecatory hesitation in her manner, but it soon passed. She clasped the widow's hands, and spoke to her in a voice so sweet, so winning, that all pain vanished from Mrs. Rothsay's mind. In a little while she was sitting calmly by Mrs. Gwynne's side, listening to her talking. It went into the blind woman's heart. Soft the voice was and kind, and above all there were in it the remembered, long unheard accents of the northern tongue. She felt again like young Sibylla Hyde, creeping along in the moonlight by the side of her stalwart Highland lover, listening to his whispers, and thinking that there was in the wide world no one like her own Angus Rothsay, so beautiful and so brave. When Mrs. Gwyn

Starting point is 07:04:48 quitted the dell, she left on the hearts of both mother and daughter a pleasure which they sought not to repress. They were quite glad that the next day was Sunday, when they would go to Harboury, and hear Harold Gwynn preach. Olive told her mother all that had passed in the churchyard, and they agreed that he must be a very peculiar, though a very clever man. As for Crystal, she had gone off with her friend, Mrs. Fledger, and did not interfere in the conversation at all. When Sunday morning came, Mrs. Rothesay's feeble strength was found unequal to a walk of two miles. Crystal, apparently not sorry for the excuse, volunteered to remain with her, and Olive went to church alone. She was loathed to leave her mother, but then she did so long to hear Mr. Gwynn

Starting point is 07:05:32 preach. She thought, all the way, what kind of minister he would make. Not at all like any other, she was quite sure. She entered the gray, still village church, and knelt down to pray in a retired corner pew. There was a great quietness over her, a repose like that of the morning before sunrise. She felt a meek happiness, a hopeful looking forth into life, and yet a touch would have awakened the fountain of tears. She saw Mrs. Gwynn walk up the aisle alone, with her firm, stately step, and then the service began. Olive glanced one instant at the officiating minister. It was the same stern face that she had seen by Sarah's grave, nay, perhaps even more stern. Nor did she like his reading, for there was in it the same iron coldness. He repeated

Starting point is 07:06:19 the touching liturgy of the English church with the tone of a judge delivering sentence, an orator pronouncing his well-written formal harangue. Olive had to shut her ears before she herself could heartily pray. This pained her. There was something so noble in Mr. Gwyn's face, so musical in his voice, that any shortcoming gave her a sense of disappointment. She felt troubled to think that he was the clergyman of the parish, and she must necessarily hear him every Sunday. Harold Gwynne mounted his pulpit, and Olive listened intensely. From what she had heard of him as a highly intellectual man, from the faint indications of character which she had herself noticed in their conversation, Miss Rothsay expected that he would have dived deeply into

Starting point is 07:07:03 theological disquisition. She had too much penetration to look to him for the Christianity of a St. John. It was evident that such was not his nature, but she thought he would surely employ his powerful mind in wrestling with those naughty points of theology which might furnish arguments for a modern St. Paul. But Harold Gwyn did neither. His sermon was a plain moral discourse, an essay such as Locke or Bacon might have written, say that he took care to translate it into language suitable to his hearers, the generality of whom were of the laboring class. Olive liked him for this, believing she recognized therein the strong sense of duty, the wish to do good, which overpowered all desire of intellectual display.

Starting point is 07:07:46 And when she had once succeeded in ignoring the fact that his sermon was of a character more suited to the professor's chair than the pulpit, she listened with deep interest to his teaching of a lofty but somewhat stern morality. Yet, despite his strong, clear arguments and his evident earnestness, there was about him a repellent atmosphere, which prevented her inclining towards the man, even while she was constrained to respect the intellect of the preacher. Nevertheless, when Mr. Gwynn ended his brief discourse with the usual prayer that it might be grafted inwardly in his hearer's minds, it sounded very like a mockery, at least to Olive, who for the moment had almost forgotten that she was in a church.

Starting point is 07:08:28 During the silent pause of the kneeling congregation, she raised her eyes and looked at the minister. He too knelt like the rest with covered face, but his hands were not folded in prayer. They were clenched like those of a man writhing under some strong and secret agony, and when he lifted his head, his rigid features were more rigid than ever. The organ awoke, peeling forth Handel's hallelujah chorus, and still the pastor sat motionless in his pulpit, his stern face, showing white in the sunshine. The heavenly music rolled round him its angelic waves. They never touched his soul. Beneath, his simple congregation passed out, exchanging with one another

Starting point is 07:09:10 demure Sunday greetings and kindly Sunday smiles. He saw them not. He sat alone, like one who has no sympathy either with heaven or earth. But there watched him from the hidden corner eyes he knew not of, the wondering, half-pitying eyes of Olive Rothsay, and while she gazed, there came into her heart, involuntarily, as if whispered by an unseen angel at her side, the words from the litany, words which he himself had coldly read an hour before, that it may please thee to lead into the way of truth all such as have erred and are deceived, we beseech thee to hear us, O Lord. Scarcely conscious was she why she thus felt, or for whom she prayed, but years after it seemed to her that there had been a solemn import in

Starting point is 07:09:58 these words. Miss Rothsay was late in quitting the church. As she did so she felt her arm lightly touched and saw beside her Mrs. Gwynne. My dear I am glad to meet you. We scarcely expected to have seen you at church today. Alone, too, then you must come with me to the parsonage to lunch. You say nay? What?

Starting point is 07:10:20 Are we still so far enemies that you refuse our bread and salt? Olive colored with sensitive fear lest she might have given pain. Besides, she felt a strong attraction towards Mrs. Gwynn, a sense of looking up, such as she had never before experienced towards any woman. For, it is needless to say, Olive's affection for her mother was the passionate, protecting tenderness of a nurse for a beloved charge, nay, even of a lover towards an idolized mistress, but there was nothing of reverential awe in it at all. Now Mrs. Gwyn carried with her dignity, influence, command.

Starting point is 07:10:55 Olive, almost against her will, found herself passing down the green alley that led to the parsonage. As she walked along, her slight small figure pressed close to her companion, who had taken her under her arm, she felt almost like a child beside Harold's mother. At the door sat little Ely, amusing herself with a great dog. She looked restless and wearied, as a child does, kept in the house under the restrictions of Sunday play. At the sight of her grandmother, the little girl seemed half pleased, half frightened, and tried to calm Rover's frolics within the bounds of sabbatic propriety. This being impossible, Mrs. Gwyn's severe voice ordered both the offenders away in different

Starting point is 07:11:37 directions. Then she apologized to Miss Rothsay. Perhaps, she continued, you are surprised that Ely was not with me this morning, but such is her father's will. My son Harold is peculiar in his opinions, and has a great hatred of cant, especially infantile cant. And does Ely never go to church? No, but I take care that she keeps Sunday properly and reverently at home. I remove her playthings and her baby books, and teach her a few of Dr. Watt's moral hymns. Olive sighed. She felt that this was not the way to teach the faith of him who smiled with benign tenderness on the little child, set in the midst, and it grieved her to think what a wide gulf there was, between the untaught Ely, and that sincere but stern pity over which had gathered the

Starting point is 07:12:24 formality of advancing years. Mrs. Gwynne and her guest had sat talking for some minutes when Harold was seen crossing the lawn. His mother called him, and he came to the window with the quick response of one who in all his life had never heard that summons unheeded. It was a slight thing, but Olive noticed it, and the loving daughter felt more kindly towards the dutious son. Harold, Miss Rothsay, is here. He glanced in at the open window with a surprised, half-confused air, which was not remarkable, considering the awkwardness of this second meeting after their first encounter. Remembering it, Olive heard his steps down the long hall with some trepidation, but entering, he walked up to her with graceful ease, took her hand, and expressed

Starting point is 07:13:09 his pleasure in meeting her. He did not make the slightest allusion either to their former correspondence or to their late conversation in the churchyard. Olive's sudden color paled beneath his unconcerned air. Her faintly quickened pulses sank into quietness. It seemed childish to have been so nervously sensitive in meeting Harold Gwynn. She felt thoroughly ashamed of herself, and was afraid, lest her shyness might have conveyed to him and to his mother the impression, which she would not for worlds have given, that she bore any painful or uncharitable

Starting point is 07:13:41 remembrance of the past. Soon the conversation glided naturally into ease and pleasantness. Mrs. Gwynne had the gift of talking well, a rare quality among women, whose conversation mostly consists of disjointed chatter, long-winded repetitions, or a commonplace remark, and silence. But Alison Gwynne had none of these feminine peculiarities. To listen to her was like reading a pleasant book. Her terse, well-chosen sentences had all the grace of easy chat,

Starting point is 07:14:11 and yet were so unaffected that not until you pause to keep you pause, to think them over, did you discover that you might have put them all down in a book, and made an excellent book, too. Her son had not this gift, or if he had he left it unemployed. It was a great moment that could draw more than ordinary words from the lips of Harold Gwynne, and such moments seemed to have been rare indeed with him. Generally he appeared, as he did now to Oliver Rothsay, the dignified but rather silent master of the household, in whose most winning grace there was reserve, and whose very courtesy implied command. He showed this when, after an hour's pleasant visit, Miss Rothsay moved to depart.

Starting point is 07:14:52 Harold requested her to remain a few minutes longer. I have occasion to go to the hall before evening service, and I shall be happy to accompany you on the way, if you do not object to my escort. If Olive had been quite free, probably she would have answered that she did, for her Independent habits made her greatly enjoy a long, quiet walk alone, especially through a beautiful country. She almost felt that the company of her redoubtable pastor would be a restraint. But in all that Harold Gwynne did or said there lurked an inexplicable sway to which everyone seemed to bend. Almost against her will she remained, and in a few minutes was walking beside him to the

Starting point is 07:15:31 little wicket gate. Here they were interrupted by someone on clerical business. Mr. Gwynne desired her to proceed, he would overtake her ere she had descended the hill. Thither Olive went, half hoping that she might, after all, take her walk alone. But very soon she heard behind her footsteps, quick, firm, manly, less seeming to tread than to crush the ground. Such footsteps give one a feeling of being haunted, as they did to Olive. It was a relief when they came up with her, and she was once more joined by Harold Gwynn. "'You are exact in keeping your word,' observed Miss Roth said.

Starting point is 07:16:07 by way of saying something. Yes, always. When I say I will, it is generally done. The road is uneven and rough. Will my arm age you, Miss Rothsay? She accepted it, perhaps the more readily because it was offered less as a courtesy than a support, and one not unneeded,

Starting point is 07:16:25 for Olive was rather tired with her morning's exertions and with the excitement of talking to strangers. As she walked, there came across her mind the thought, what a new thing it was for her to have a strong, kindly, arm to lean on, but it seemed rather pleasant than otherwise, and she felt gratefully towards Mr. Gwynne. They conversed on the ordinary topics, natural to such a recent acquaintance, the beauty of the country around, the peculiarities of forest scenery, etc., etc. Never once did Harold's conversation assimilate to that which had so struck olive when they stood beside

Starting point is 07:16:59 poor Sarah's grave. It seemed as though the former Harold Gwyn, the object of her girlhood's dislike, her father's enemy, her friend's husband, had vanished forever, and in his stead was a man whose strong individuality of character already interested her. He was unlike all other men she had ever known. This fact, together with the slight mystery that hung over him, attracted the lingering romance of Olive's nature, and made her observe his manner and his words with a vigilant curiosity, as if to seek some new revelation of humanity in his character or his history. Therefore, every little incident of conversation in that first walk was carefully put by in her hidden nooks of memory to amuse her mother with,

Starting point is 07:17:44 and perhaps also to speculate thereupon herself. They reached Farnwood Dell, and Olive's conscience began to accuse her of having left her mother for so many hours. Therefore her adieu and thanks to Mr. Gwynne were somewhat abrupt. mechanically she invited him in, and, to her surprise, he entered. Mrs. Rothsay was sitting out of doors in her garden chair, a beautiful picture she made, leaning back with a mild sweetness, scarce a smile hovering on her lips. Her pale little hands were folded on her black dress, her soft braids of hair,

Starting point is 07:18:18 already silver-gray, and her complexion, lovely as that of a young girl, showing delicately in contrast with her crimson gardenhood the triumph of her daughter's skillful fingers. Olive crossed the grass with a quick and noiseless step, Harold following. "'Mama, darling!' A light, bright as a sunburst, shone over Mrs. Rothesay's face. "'My child! How long you have been away! Did Mrs. Gwyn—' "'Hush, darling!' in a whisper. I have been at the parsonage, and Mr. Gwynn has kindly brought me home. He is here now. Harold stood at a distance and bowed. Olive came to him, saying in a low tone,

Starting point is 07:18:59 "'Take her hand. She cannot see you. She is blind.' He started with surprise. I did not know. My mother told me nothing. And then, advancing to Mrs. Rothsay, he pressed her hand in both his, with such an air of reverent tenderness and gentle compassion, that it made his face grow softened, beautiful, divine. Olive Rothsay, turning, beheld that look. It never afterwards faded from her memory. Mrs. Rothsay arose and said in her own sweet manner, I am happy to meet Mr. Gwynn and to thank him for taking care of my child. They talked for a few minutes, and then Olive persuaded her mother to return to the house.

Starting point is 07:19:41 You will come, Mr. Gwynn, said Mrs. Rothsay. He answered, hesitating that the afternoon would close soon, and he must go on to Farnwood Hall. Mrs. Rothsay rose from her chair with the touching, helpless movement of one who is blind. Permit me, said Harold Gwynn, as, stepping quickly forward, he drew her arm through his, arranging her shawl with a care like a woman's, and so he led her into the house, with a tenderness beautiful to see. Olive, as she followed silently after, felt her whole heart melted towards him. She never forgot Harold's first meeting with and his kindness to her mother.

Starting point is 07:20:19 He went away, promising to pay another visit soon. I am quite charmed with Mr. Gwynne, said Mrs. Rothsay. Tell me, Olive, what he is like. Olive described him, though not enthusiastically at all. Nevertheless, her mother answered, smiling. He must indeed be a remarkable person. He is such a perfect gentleman, and his voice is so kind and pleasant. Like his mother, too, he has a little of the sweet Scottish tongue. Truly I did not think there had been in the world such a man as Harold Gwynne. "'Nor I,' answered Olive, in a soft, quiet, happy voice. She hung over her mother with a deeper tenderness.

Starting point is 07:20:58 She looked out into the lovely autumn sunset with a keener sense of beauty and of joy. The sun was setting, the year was waning, but on Olive Rothsay's life had risen a new season and a new day. End of Chapter twenty-seven. Chapter 28 of Olive. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. by Dinah Maria Crake Chapter 28 Well, I never in my life knew such a change as Farnwood has made in Miss Manners,

Starting point is 07:21:36 observed old Hannah the Woodford Cottage maid, who, though carefully kept in ignorance of any facts that could betray the secret of Crystal's history, yet seemed at times to bear a secret grudge against her as an interloper. There she comes, riding across the country like some wild thing, she who used to be so prim and precise. "'Poor young creature! She is like a bird just let out of a cage,' said Mrs. Rothsay, kindly. "'It is often so with girls brought up as she has been. Olive, I am glad you never went to school.' Olive's answer was stopped by the appearance of Crystal, followed by one of the young Fledger boys, with whom she had become a first-rate favorite. Her fearless frankness, her exuberant spirits,

Starting point is 07:22:19 tempered only by her anxiety to appear always the grand lady, made her a welcome guest at Farnwood Hall. Indeed, she was rarely at home, save one appearing as now on a hasty visit, which quite disturbed Mrs. Rothsay's placidity, and almost drove old Hannah crazy. "'He is not come yet, you see,' Crystal said, with a mysterious nod to Charlie Fludger. "'I thought we should outride him. A parson never can manage a pony. But he will surely be here soon.' "'Who will be here soon?' asked Olive, considerably surprised. "'Are you speaking of Mr. Gwyn?' "'Mr. Gwynn? No. Far better. fun than that, isn't it, Charlie? Shall we tell the secret or not? Or else shall we tell half of it

Starting point is 07:23:02 and let her puzzle it out till he comes?' The boy nodded assent. "'Well, then, there is coming to see you today a friend of Charlie's, who only arrived at Farnwood last night, and since then has been talking of nothing else but his old idol Miss Olive Rothera, so I told him to meet me here, and lo, he comes.' There was a hurried knock at the door, and immediately the little parlor was graced by the presence of an individual, whom Olive did not recognize in the least. He seemed about twenty, slight and tall, of a complexion red and white, his features pretty, though rather girlish. Olive bowed to him in undisguised surprise, but the moment he saw her his face became

Starting point is 07:23:43 celestial rosy red, apparently from a habit he had, in common with other bashful youths, of blushing on all occasions. I see you do not remember me, Miss Rothsay. Of course I could not expect it, but I have not forgotten you. Olive, though still doubtful, instinctively offered him her hand. The tall youth took it eagerly, and as he looked down upon her, something in his expression reminded her of a face she had herself once looked down upon, her little knight of the garden at Old Church. In the impulse of the moment she called him again by his old name.

Starting point is 07:24:19 Lyle! Lyle, Derwent! Yes, it is indeed I, cried the young man. "'Oh, Miss Rothsay, you can't tell how glad I am to meet you again. I am glad, too.' And Olive regarded him with that half-mornful curiosity, with which we trace the lineaments of some long-forgotten face, belonging to that olden time, between which and now a whole lifetime seems to have

Starting point is 07:24:42 intervened. "'Is that little Lyle Durwint?' cried Mrs. Rothsay, catching the name. "'How very strange! Come hither, my dear boy! Alas, I cannot see you. "'Let me put my hand on your head.' "'But she could not reach it. He was grown so tall. She seemed startled to think how time had flown. "'He is quite a man now, Mama,' said Olive. "'You know we have not seen him for many years.'

Starting point is 07:25:07 Lyle added, blushing deeper than before. "'The last time, I remember it well, was in the garden one Sunday in spring, "'nine years ago.' "'Nine years ago. Is it then nine years since my Angus died?' murmured the widow, and a grave silence spread itself over them all. In the midst of it, Crystal and Charlie, seeing this meeting was not likely to produce the fun they expected, took the opportunity of escaping. Then came the questions, which after so long a period one shrinks from asking, afraid of answer. Olive learnt that old Mr. Derwent had ceased to scold, and poor Bob played

Starting point is 07:25:46 his mischievous pranks no more. Both lay quiet in Old Church's churchyard. Worldly losses, too had chanced, until the sole survivor of the family found himself very poor. "'I should not even have gone to college,' said Lyle, "'but for the kindness of my brother-in-law, Harold Gwynn.' "'Aulive started, "'Oh, true, I forgot all about that. "'Then he has been a good brother to you,' added she, "'with a feeling of pleasure and interest.

Starting point is 07:26:12 "'He has, indeed. "'When my father died, I had not a relative in the world, "'save a rich old uncle who wanted to put me in his counting-house. "'But Harold stood between us. and saved me from a calling I hated. And when my uncle turned me off, he took me home. Yes, I am not ashamed to say that I owe everything in the world to my brother, Harold. I feel this the more, because he was not quite happy in his marriage. She did not suit him, my sister, Sarah. Indeed, said Olive, and changed the conversation.

Starting point is 07:26:44 After T, Lyle, who appeared rather a sentimental young gentleman, proposed a moonlight walk in the garden. Miss Crystal, after eyeing Olive and her cavalier with a mixture of amusement and vexation, as if she did not like to miss so excellent a chance of fun and flirtation, consult herself with ball-playing and Charlie Fludger. As their conversation grew more familiar, Olive was rather disappointed in Lyle. In his boyhood she had thought him quite a little genius, but the bud had given more promise than the flower was ever likely to fulfill. Now she saw in him one of those not uncommon characters, who, with sensitive feeling and some

Starting point is 07:27:23 graceful talent, yet never rise to the standard of genius. Strength, daring, and above all originality were wanting in his mind. With all his dreamy sentiment, his lip library of perpetually quoted poets, and his own numberless scribblings, of which he took care to inform Miss Rothsay, Lyle Derwent would probably remain to his life's end a mere poetical gentleman. Olive soon divined all this, and she began to weary a little of her companion and his vague sentimentalities, in linked sweetness long drawn out. Besides, thoughts much deeper had haunted her at times during the evening, thoughts of the marriage which had been not quite happy. This fact scarcely surprised her. The more she began to know of Mr. Gwynn, and she had seen a great deal of him,

Starting point is 07:28:11 considering the few weeks of their acquaintance, the more she marveled that he had ever chosen Sarah Derwent for his wife. Their union must have been like that of night and day, fierce fire and unstable water. Olive longed to fathom the mystery and could not resist saying, "'You were talking of your sister a while ago. I stopped you, for I saw it pained Mama, but now I should so like to hear something about my poor Sarah. I can tell you little, for I was a boy when she died. But things I then little noted, I put together afterwards. It must have been quite a romance, I think. You know my sister had a former lover, Charles Geddes. Do you remember him?' "'I do, well!' And Olive sighed,

Starting point is 07:28:54 perhaps over the remembrance of the dream born in that fairy time, her first girlish dream of ideal love. He was at sea when Sarah married. On his return the news almost drove him wild. I remember his coming in the garden, our old garden, you know, where he and Sarah used to walk. He seemed half mad, and I went to him, and comforted him as well I could, though little I understood his grief. "'Perhaps I should now,' said Lyle, lifting his eyes with rather a doleful, sentimental air, which, alas, was all lost upon his companion. "'Poor Charles!' she murmured.

Starting point is 07:29:28 "'But tell me more.' "'He persuaded me to take back all her letters, together with one from himself, and give them to my sister the next time I went to Harbury. I did so. "'Well, I remember that night. "'Herald came in and found his wife crying over the letters. "'In a fit of jealousy he took them and read them all through, "'together with that of Charles.

Starting point is 07:29:49 "'He did not see me or know the part I had in the matter, "'but I shall never forget him.' "'What did he do?' asked Olive eagerly. "'Strange that her question and her thoughts were not of Sarah, but of Harold. "'Do, nothing. "'But his words, I remember them distinctly, "'they were so freezing, so stern, He grasped her arm and said,

Starting point is 07:30:11 Sarah, when you said you loved me, you uttered a lie. When you took your marriage oath, you vowed a lie. Every day since that you have smiled in my face, you have looked a lie. Henceforth I will never trust you or any woman. And what followed, cried Olive, now so strongly interested that she never paused to think if she had any right to ask these questions. Soon after, Sarah came home to us.

Starting point is 07:30:35 She did not stay long, and then returned to heart. Harald was never unkind to her that I know, but somehow she pined away, the more so after she heard of Charles Geddy's sudden death. Alas! He died, too? Yes, by an accident his own recklessness caused. But he was weary of his life, poor fellow. Well, Sarah never quite recovered that shock.

Starting point is 07:31:00 After little Isle was born, she lingered a few weeks, and then died. It was almost a relief to us all. What? Did you not love your sister? "'Of course I did, but then she was older than I and had never cared for me much. Now as to Harold I owe him everything. He has been to me less like a brother than a father, not in affection, perhaps that is scarcely in his nature, but in kindness and in counsel.

Starting point is 07:31:24 There is not in the world a better man than Harold Gwyn.' Olive replied warmly, "'I am sure of it, and I like you the more for acknowledging it.' Then in some confusion she added, "'Pardon me, but I had quite gone back to the old times when you were my little pet. I really must learn to show more formality and respect to Mr. Derwent. Don't say Mr. Durwent. Pray call me Lyle as you used to do.'

Starting point is 07:31:50 "'That I will with pleasure.' "'Only,' she continued, smiling, "'when I look up at you, I shall begin to feel quite an ancient dame since I am so much older than you.' "'Not at all,' Lyle answered, with an eagerness somewhat deeper than the mannish pride of youths who have just crossed the Rubicon that divides them from their much scorned teens. I have advanced, and you seem to have stood still. There is scarcely any difference between us now.

Starting point is 07:32:17 And Olive, somewhat amused, let her old favourite have his way. They spoke on trivial subjects until it was time to return to the house. Just as they were entering, Lyle said, Look, there is my brother-in-law standing at the gate. "'Oh, Miss Rothsay, be sure you never tell him of the things we have been talking about. "'It is not likely I shall ever have the opportunity. Mr. Gwynne seems a very reserved man. "'He is so, and of these matters he now never speaks at all.

Starting point is 07:32:46 "'Hush, he is here. "'And with a feeling of unwanted nervousness, "'as if she feared he had been aware of how much she had thought and conversed about him, "'all have met Harold Gwynn. "'I am afraid I am an intruder, Miss Rothsay,' said the latter. with a half-suspicious glance at the tall dark figure which stood near her in the moonlight. "'What? Did you not know me, Brother Harold? How funny!' And he laughed. His laugh was something like Sarah's. It seemed to ring jarringly on Mr. Gwyn's ear.

Starting point is 07:33:17 "'I was not aware, Miss Rothsay, that you knew my brother-in-law. Oh, Miss Rothsay and I were friends almost ten years ago. She was our neighbor at Old Church.' "'Indeed.' And Olive thought she discerned in his face, which she had already begun to read, some slight pain or annoyance. Perhaps it wounded him to know anyone who had known Sarah. Perhaps, but conjectures were vain. I am glad you are come, she said to Harold. Mama has been wishing for you all day.

Starting point is 07:33:46 Lyle, will you go and tell her who is here? Nay, Mr. Gwynn, surely you will come back with me to the house. He seemed half inclined to resist, but at last yielded. So he made one of the little circle, and assisted well at this, the first of many social evenings at Farnwood Dell. But at times, Olive caught some of his terse, keen, and somewhat sarcastic sayings, and thought she could imagine the look and tone with which he had said the bitter words about never trusting woman more.

Starting point is 07:34:15 He and Lyle went away together, and Crystal, who had at last succeeded in apparently involving the light-hearted young Collegian within the meshes of her smiles, took consolation in a little quiet drollery with Charlie Fludger. But even this resource failed when Charlie spoke of returning home. "'I shall not go back with you to-night,' said Crystal. "'I shall stay at the dell. You may come and fetch me to-morrow, with the pony you lent me, and bring Mr. Derwent, too, to lead it. To see him so employed would be excellent fun.' "'You seem to have taken a sudden passion for riding, Crystal,' said Olive, with a smile when they were alone. "'Yes, it suits me. I like dashing along across the country. excitement, and I like too to have a horse obeying me, tis so delicious to rule, to think that

Starting point is 07:35:02 Madame Blondein should consider riding unfeminine, and that I should have missed that pleasure for so many years, but I am my own mistress now. By the way, she added carelessly, I wanted to have a few words with you, Miss Rothsay. She had rarely called her Olive of late. Nay, my dears, interposed Mrs. Rothsay, do not begin to talk just yet, not until I am gone to bed, for I am very, very tired. And so, until Olive came downstairs again, Crystal sat in dignified solitude by the parlor fire. Well, said Miss Rothsay when she entered, what have you to say to me, my dear child? Crystal drew back a little at the familiar word and

Starting point is 07:35:43 manner, as though she did not quite like it, but she only said, oh, it is a mere trifle, I am obliged to mention it, because I understand Miss Vanbrough left my money matters under your care until I came of age. Certainly, you know it was by your consent, Crystal. Oh, yes, because it will save me trouble. Well, all I wanted to say was that I wished to keep a horse. To keep a horse? Certainly, what harm can there be in that? I long to ride about it my own will, go to the meats in the forest, even to follow the hounds. I am my own mistress and I choose to do it, said Crystal in rather a high tone. You cannot indeed, my dear, answered Olive, Miles, "'Think of all the expenses it would entail,

Starting point is 07:36:27 "'expenses far beyond your income. "'I myself am the best judge of that. "'Not quite. "'Because, Crystal, you are still very young "'and have little knowledge of the world, "'besides, to tell you the plain truth, "'must I? "'Certainly, of all things I hate deceit and concealment.'

Starting point is 07:36:46 "'Here Crystal stopped, blushed a little, "'and, half-turning aside, "'hid further in her bosom a little ornament "'which occasionally peeped. out, a silver cross and beads. Then she said in a somewhat less angry tone, "'You are right. Tell me all your mind. I think, then, that though your income is sufficient to give you independence, it cannot provide you with luxuries.' Also, she continued, speaking very gently. It seems to me scarcely right that a young girl like you, without father or brother,

Starting point is 07:37:20 should go riding and hunting in the way you purpose. That still is my own affair. No one has a right to control me.' Olive was silent. Do you mean to say you have? Because you are in some sort my guardian, are you to thwart me in this manner? I will not endure it. And there rose in her the same fierce spirit, which had startled Olive on the first night of the girl's arrival at Woodford cottage, and which, something to her surprise, had lain dormant ever since, covered over with the light-hearted trifling which formed Crystal's outward character. "'What am I to do?' thought Olive, much troubled. "'How am I to wrestle with this girl?

Starting point is 07:37:58 But I will do it, if only for Meliora's sake.' "'Chrystal,' she said affectionately, "'we have never talked together seriously for a long time, not since the first night we met. "'I remember you were good to me, then,' answered Crystal, a little subdued. "'Because I was grieved for you. I pitied you.' "'Pitied!' And the angry demon again rose. Olive saw she must not touch that cord again. "'My dear,' she said, still more kindly. "'Indeed, I have neither the wish nor the right to rule you, I only advise.

Starting point is 07:38:34 And to advise, I am ready to listen. Don't mistake me, Miss Rothsay.' "'I liked you. I do still very much indeed, but you don't quite understand or sympathize with me now. "'Why not, dear? Is it because I have little time to be with you, being so much occupied with my mother and with my profession?' "'I, that is it,' said Crystal loftily. "'My dear Miss Roth say, I am much obliged to you for all your kindness, but we do not suit one another. I have found that out since I visited at Farnwood Hall. There is a difference between a mere artist working for a lively, and an independent lady. Even Crystal, abrupt as her anger had made her,

Starting point is 07:39:15 blushed for the rudeness of this speech, but false shame kept her from offering any atonement. Olive's slight figure expressed unwanted dignity. In her arose something of the old Rothsay pride, but still more of pride in her art. There is a difference, but to my way of thinking it is often on the side of the artist. Crystal made no answer,

Starting point is 07:39:37 and Olive continued, resuming her usual manner. Come, we will not discuss this matter. All that need be decided now is whether or not I shall draw the sum you will require to buy your horse. I will if you desire it, because, as you say, I have indeed no control over you. But, my dear Crystal, I entreat you to pause and consider, at least till morning. Olive rose, for she was unequal to further conversation. Deeply it pained her that this girl, whom she wished so to love,

Starting point is 07:40:07 should evidently turn from her, not in dislike, but in a sort of contemptuous indifference. Still she made one effort more. As she was retiring, she went up, bade her good-night, and kissed her as usual. Do not let this conversation make any division between us, Crystal. Oh, no, said Crystal rather coldly. Only, she added, in the passionate yet mournful tone which she had before used when at Woodford Cottage, only you must not interfere with me, Olive, remember I was my not brought up like you. I had no one to control me, no one to teach me to control myself. It could not

Starting point is 07:40:43 be helped, and it is too late now. It is never too late, cried Olive, but Crystal's emotion had passed, and she resumed her lofty manner. Excuse me, but I am a little too old to be lectured, and I have no doubt shall be able to guide my own conduct. For the future we will not have quite such serious conversations as this. Good night. Olive went away, heavy at heart. She had long been unaccustomed to wrestle with an angry spirit. Indeed, she lived in an atmosphere so pure and full of love that on it never gloomed one domestic storm. She almost wished that Crystal had not come with them to Farnwood. But then it seemed such an awful thing for this young and headstrong creature to be adrift on the wide world. She determined that, whether Crystal desired it or no, she would never

Starting point is 07:41:34 lose sight of her, but try to guide her with so light a hand that the girl might never even feel the sway. Next morning, Miss Manners abruptly communicated her determination not to have the horse, and the matter was never again referred to. But it had placed a chasm between Olive and Crystal, which the one could not, the other would not pass. And as various other interests grew up in Miss Rothsay's life, her anxiety over this wayward girl a little ceased. Crystal stayed almost wholly at Farnwood Hall, and in humble, happy Farnwood Dell, Olive Abode, devoted to her art and to her mother. End of Chapter 28. Chapter 29 of Olive. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dinah Maria Crake, Chapter 29. Weeks glided into months.

Starting point is 07:42:37 and within the three-mile circle of the hall, the parsonage, and the dell, was as pleasant a little society as could be found anywhere. Frequent meetings, usually confined to themselves alone, produced the necessary intimacy of a country neighborhood. As it sometimes happens that persons or families taught to love each other unknown, when well-known learned to hate, so, on the contrary, it is no unfrequent circumstance for those who have lived for years in enmity when suddenly brought together,

Starting point is 07:43:07 to become closer friends than if there had been no former antipathy between them. So it was with the Rothsay's and the Gwyns. Once, after Mrs. Gwynn and her son had spent a long, pleasant evening at the dell, Olive chanced to light upon the packet of Harold's letters, which, years before she had put by, with the sincere wish that she might never hear anything of him more. "'You would not wish so now, Olive, nor would I,' said Mrs. Rothsay, when her daughter had smilingly referred to the fact.

Starting point is 07:43:37 The Society of the Gwyns has really proved a great addition to our happiness. How kind and warm-hearted Mrs. Gwyn is! So earnest in her friendship for us, too. Yes, indeed. Do you know, it struck me that it must have been from her report of us, that Aunt Flora Rothsay sent the kind message which the Gwyns brought today. I own it made me happy. To think that my long-past romantic dream should be likely to come true,

Starting point is 07:44:03 and that next year we should go to Scotland and see Papa's dear old aunt. "'You will go, my child.' "'And you too, darling. "'Think how much you would like it when the summer comes. "'You will be quite strong, then, "'and how pleasant it will be to know that good Aunt Flora "'of whom the Gwyns talk so much. "'She must be a very, very old lady now,

Starting point is 07:44:22 "'though Mrs. Gwyn says she is quite beautiful still. "'But she can't be so beautiful as my own mama. "'Oh, darling, there will never be seen "'such a wondrous old lady as you, "'when you are seventy or eighty. "'Then I shall be quite elderly myself. "'We shall seem just like two sisters.' sisters, growing old together. Olive never spoke, never dreamed of any other possibility than

Starting point is 07:44:43 this. Calmly, cheerfully passed the winter, Miss Rothsay devoting herself, as heretofore, to the two great interests of her life, but she had other minor interests gathering up around her, which in some respects were of much service. They prevented that engrossing study, which was often more than her health could bear. Once when reading letters from Rome, from Mr. Vanbrough and Meliora, Olive said, Mama, I think on the whole I am happier here than I was at Woodford Cottage. I feel less of an artist and more of a woman. And, Olive, I am happy too, happy to think that my child is safe with me and not carried

Starting point is 07:45:20 off to Rome. For Olive had, of course, told her mother of that circumstance in her life, which might have changed its current so entirely. My daughter, I would not have you leave me to marry any man in the world. I never shall, darling, she answered, and she felt that this was true. true. Her heart was absorbed in her mother. Nevertheless, the other interests before mentioned, though quite external, filled up many little crevices in that loving heart which had room for so many affections. Among these was one which, in Olive's whole lifetime, had been an impulse, strong

Starting point is 07:45:53 but ever unfulfilled, love for a child. She took to her heart Harold's little daughter, less regarding it as his than as poor Sarah's, the more so because, though a good and careful, he was not a very loving father. But he seemed gratified by the kindness that Miss Rothsay showed to little Ily, and frequently suffered the child to stay with her, and be taught by her all things, save those in which it was his pleasure that his daughter should remain ignorant, the doctrines of the Church of England. Sometimes in her visiting of the poor, Olive saw the frightful profanities of that cant knowledge which young or ignorant minds acquire, and by which the greatest mysteries of Christianity are lowered to a burlesque. Then she inclined to

Starting point is 07:46:36 to think that Harold Gwynne was right, and that in this temporary prohibition he acted as became a wise father and a discreet and learned minister of God's word. As such, she ever considered him, though she sometimes thought he received and communicated that word less through his heart than through his intellect. His moral character and doctrines were irreproachable, but it seemed to her as if the due of Christian love had never fallen on his soul. This feeling gave her, in spite of herself, a sort of awe for him, which she would not willingly have felt towards her pastor, and one whom she so much regarded and respected. Especially as on any other subject she ever held him with full and free communion, and he seemed

Starting point is 07:47:18 gradually to unbend his somewhat hard nature, as a man will do who inclines in friendship towards a truly good woman. Perhaps here it would be as well to observe, that, close and intimate friends as they were, the tie was such that none of their two households, no, not even the most tattling, Gossips of Farnwood and Harbury, ever dreamed of saying that Harold Gwynne was in love with Miss Rothsay. The good folks did chatter now and then, as country gossips will about him and Crystal Manners, and perhaps they would have chattered more if the young lady had not been almost constantly at the hall, whither Mr. Gwynn rarely went. But they left the bond between him

Starting point is 07:47:55 and Olive Rothesay untouched, untroubled by their idle jests. Perhaps those who remembered the beautiful Mrs. Harold Gwynne, imagined the widower would never choose a second wife so different from his first, or perhaps there was cast about the daughter, so devotedly tending her blind mother, a sanctity which their unholy and foolish tongues dared not to violate. Thus Olive went on her way, showing great tenderness to little Ily, and, as it seemed, being gradually drawn by the child to the father. Besides, there was another sympathy between them, caused by the early associations of both and by their common Scottish blood. For Harold had inherited from his father nothing but his name,

Starting point is 07:48:36 from his mother everything besides. Born in Scotland, he was a Scotsman to the very core. His influence awakened once more every feeling that bound Olive Rothsay to the land of her birth, her father's land. All things connected therewith took in her eyes a new romance. She was happy, she knew not why, happy as she had been in her dreamy girlhood, it seemed as though in her life had dawned a second spring perhaps there was but one thing which really troubled her and that was the prohibition in her teaching of little isle she talked the matter over with her mother that is she uttered aloud her own thoughts to which Mrs. Rothsay meekly assented, saying, as usual, that Olive was quite right,

Starting point is 07:49:18 and at last, after much hesitation, she made up her mind to speak openly on the subject with Mr. Gwynn. For this arduous undertaking, at which, in spite of herself, she trembled a little, she chose a time when he had met her in one of her forest walks, which she had undertaken, as she often did, to fulfil some charitable duty, usually that of the clergyman or the clergyman's family. "'How kind you are, Miss Roth say, and to come all through the wintry forests, too. It was scarcely fit for you. Then it certainly was not for Mrs. Gwynn.

Starting point is 07:49:49 I was quite glad to relieve her, and it gives me real pleasure to read and talk with John Dent's sick mother. Much as she suffers, she is the happiest old woman I ever saw in my life.' "'What makes her happy, thank you,' said Harold, continuing the conversation as if he wished it to be continued, and so falling naturally into a quiet arm-in-arm walk? Olive answered, responding to his evident intention, and passing at once, as in their conversations they always did, to a subject of interest. She is happy, because she has a meek and trusting faith in God, and though she knows little she loves much. Can one love him whom one does not fully know?

Starting point is 07:50:28 It was one of the sharp searching questions that Mr. Gwynn sometimes put, which never failed to startle Olive, and to which she could not always reply, but she made an effort to do so now. Yes, when what we do know of him commands love, does Ely, even Ely, thoroughly know her father, and yet she loves him? That I cannot judge, but most true it is, we know as little of God as Ely knows of her father, I and look up to heaven with as blindfold ignorance as Ely looks up to me. Alas, Eilie's is indeed blindfold ignorance, said Olive, not quite understanding his half-muttered words, but thinking they offered a good opportunity for fulfilling her purpose. Mr. Gwyn, may I speak to you about something which has long troubled me?

Starting point is 07:51:12 Troubled you, Miss Roth, say. Surely that is not my fault. I would not, for the world do all that would give pain to one so good as you. He said this very kindly, pressing her arm with a brotherly gentleness, which passed into her heart, imparting to her not only a quick sense of pleasure, but likewise courage. Thank you, Mr. Gwynn. This does really pain me. It is a very important. It is a very much the subject on which we talked the first time that ever you and I met, and of which we have never since spoken. Your determination with respect to little Isley's religious instruction. Ah! A start and a dark look. Well, Miss Rothsay, what have you to say?

Starting point is 07:51:49 That I think you are not quite right. Nay, quite wrong, said Olive, gathering resolution. You are taking from your child her only strength in life, her only comfort in death. You keep her from the true faith. She will soon make to herself a false one. Nay, what is more false than the idle traditions taught by ranting parents to their offspring? The Bible travestied into a nursery talc, heaven transformed into a pretty pleasure house, and hell and its horrors brought as bug bears to frighten children in the dark. Do you think I would have my child turned into a baby saint, to patter glibly over parrot prayers, "'exchange pet sweetmeats for missionary pennies,

Starting point is 07:52:29 "'and so learn to keep up a debtor and creditor account with heaven? "'No, Miss Roth say, I would rather see her grow up a heathen.' "'Awlive, awed by his language, which was bitter even to fierceness, "'at first made him no answer. "'At length, however, she ventured, not without trembling, to touch another cord. "'But—' "'Suppose that your child should be taken away? "'Would you have her die as she lives now, utterly ignorant of all holy things?'

Starting point is 07:52:56 Would I have her die an infant bigot, prattling blindly of subjects which in the common course of nature no child can comprehend? Would I have her chronicled in some penny tract as a remarkable instance of infant piety, a small vessel of mercy to whom the gospel was miraculously revealed at three years old? Do not! Oh, do not speak thus, cried Olive, shrinking from him, for she saw in his face a look she had never seen before, an expression answering to the bitter, daring sarcasm of his tone. You think me a strange specimen of a Church of England clergyman.

Starting point is 07:53:31 Well, perhaps you are right. I believe I am rather different to my brethren. He said this with sharp irony. Nevertheless, if you inquire concerning me in the neighbourhood, I think you will find that my moral conduct has never disgraced my cloth. Never, cried Olive warmly. Mr. Gwyn, pardon me if I have overstepped the deference due to yourself and your opinions. In some things I cannot fathom them or you, but that you are a good, sincere,

Starting point is 07:53:59 and pious man I most earnestly believe. Do you?" Olive started. The two words were simple, but she thought they had an under-meaning, as though he were mocking either himself or her, or both, but she thought this could be only fancy, when, in a minute or two after, he said in his ordinary manner, Miss Roth say, we have been talking earnestly, and you have unconsciously betrayed me into speaking more warmly than I ought to speak, do not misjudge me. All men's faith is free, and in some minor points of Christianity I perhaps hold peculiar opinions. As regards little Ily, I thank you for your kind interest in this matter, which we will discuss again another time. They had now reached John Dent's cottage. I'll have asked if he would not enter with her.

Starting point is 07:54:46 No, no, you are a far better apostle than your clergyman. Besides, I have business at home and must return. Good morning, Miss Rothsay. He lifted his hat with a courtly grace, but his eyes showed that reverence which no courts could command, the reverence of a sincere man for a noble-hearted woman, and so he walked back into the forest. End of Chapter 29. Chapter 30 of Olive. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dinah Maria Crake. Chapter 30. The dwelling which Miss Rothsay entered was one of the keeper's cottages built within the forest. The door stood open, for the place was too lowly even for robbers, and besides its inmates had nothing to lose.

Starting point is 07:55:39 Still, Olive thought it was wrong to leave a poor bed-ridden old woman in a state of such unprotected desolation. As her step was heard crossing the threshold, there was a shrill cry from the inner room. "'John! John, the lad! Has thee found the lad? Has thee found the lad? "'It is not your son, tis I. Why, what has happened to my good Marjorie?' But the poor old creature fell back and wrung her hands, sobbing bitterly. "'The lad! Don't you know aught of the lad? Poor Rubin! He won't come back no more! Alack! Alack! And with some difficulty, Olive learnt that Marjorie's grandson, the keeper's only child, had gone into the forest some days before and had never returned. It was no rare thing

Starting point is 07:56:24 for even practiced woodsmen to be lost in this wild, wide forest, and at night in the wintertime there was no hope. John Dent had gone out with his fellows, less to find the living than to bring back the dead. Filled with a deep pity, Olive sat down by the miserable grandmother, but the poor soul refused to be comforted. John'll go mad, clean mad! There be it nowhere such a good lad as our Reuben, and to be clammed to death and froze? Oh Lord, take pity on us, miserable sinners. For hours Olive sat by the old woman's bedside. The murky winter day soon closed in and the snow began to fall, but still there was nothing heard save the wind howling in the forest. Often Marjorie started up, crying out that there were footsteps at the door, and then sank back

Starting point is 07:57:13 in dumb despair. At last there was a tramp of many feet on the frozen ground, the last was lifted and John Dent burst in. He was a sturdy woodsman of a race that are often seen in this forest region, almost giant-like in height and bulk. The snow lay thick on his uncovered head and naked breast, for he had stripped off all his upper garments to wrap round something that was clasped tightly in his arms. He spoke to no one, looked at no one, but laid his burden before the hearth supported on his knees. It was the corpse of a boy blue and shriveled, like that of one frozen to death. He tried to chafe and bend the fingers, but they were as stiff as iron. He wrung the melting snow out of the hair, and as the locks became soft and supple under his

Starting point is 07:57:59 hand, seemed to think there was yet a little life remaining. Why don't not ye stir, ye fools! Get to blanket, pulled off the old woman? I tell ye the lads alive? No one moved, and then the frantic father began to curse and swear. He rushed into old Marjorie's room. Get up with thee. How darest thee lie hallo in there? Come and help to lad!' And then he ran back to where poor Rubin's body lay extended on the hearth, surrounded by the other woodsmen, most of whom were pale with awe, some even melting into tears. John Dent dashed them all aside, and took his son again in his arms. Olive, from her corner, watched the writhings of his rugged features, but she ventured not to approach. "'Tack heart! Tack heart, John!' said one of the men.

Starting point is 07:58:46 "'He did not suffer much, I reckon,' said another. "'My old mother was nigh froze to death and to forest, "'and her said twas just like dropin' to sleep. "'And look ye, the poor lad's face be as quiet as a child.' "'John Dent, ma'n,' whispered one old keeper, "'say thy prayers, they does not often do it, and they'll want it now.' And then John Dent broke into such a paroxysm of despair that one by one his comforters quitted the cottage.

Starting point is 07:59:13 They, strong, bold men, who feared none of the evils of life, became feeble as children before the awful face of death. One only remained, the old huntsman who had given the last counsel to the wretched father. This man, whom Olive knew, was beckoned by her to Marjorie's room to see what could be done. I'll fetch Mr. Gwyn to manage John, poor fellow, the devil's got un sure enough, and it'll tack a parson to drive it away. But Orn't be a queer, gentlemen.

Starting point is 07:59:42 "'When I get to Harbury, what ma'am'ay say?' "'Say that I am here, that I entreat him to come at once,' cried Olive, feeling her strength sinking before this painful scene, from which in common charity she could not turn aside. She came once more to look at John Dent, who had crouched down before the hearth, with the stiff form of the poor dead boy extended on his knees, gazing at it with a sort of vacant, hopeless misery. Then she went back to the old woman, and tried to speak of comfort and of prayer. It was not far to Harbury, but in less time than Olive had expected, Harold Gwynne arrived. Miss Rothsay, you sent for me. I did! I did, oh, thank heaven that you are come, eagerly cried

Starting point is 08:00:26 Olive, clasping his two hands. He regarded her with a surprised and troubled look and took them away. What do you wish me to do? What a minister of God is able, nay, bound to do, to speak comfort in this house of misery! The poor old woman echoed the same entreaty. "'Oh, Mr. Gwyn, you that be a parson, a man of God, come and help us!' Harold looked round, and saw he had to face the woe that no worldly comfort or counsel can lighten, that he had entered into the awful presence of the power, which, stripping man of all his earthly pomp, wisdom, and strength, leaves him poor, weak, and naked before his God.

Starting point is 08:01:06 The proud, the moral, the learned Harold Gwynn, stood done. before the mystery of death. It was too mighty for him. He looked on the dead boy and on the living father, then cast his eyes down to the ground and muttered within himself, "'What should I do here?' "'Read to him. Pray with him,' whispered Olive. "'Speak to him of God, of heaven, of immortality.' "'God, heaven, immortality,' echoed Harold vacantly, but he never stirred. "'They say that this man has been a great sinner and an unbeliever. Oh, tell him that he cannot deceive himself now. Death knells into his ear that there is a God, that there is a hereafter.

Starting point is 08:01:48 Mr. Gwynn, oh, tell him that at a time like this, there is no comfort, no hope, save in God and in his word. Olive had spoken thus in the excitement of the moment. Then, recovering herself, she asked pardon for a speech so bold as if she would fain teach the clergyman his duty. "'My duty, yes, I must do my duty,' muttered Harold Gwyn. and with his hard-set face, the face he wore in the pulpit, he went up to the father of the dead child, and said something about patience, submission to the decrees of providence, and

Starting point is 08:02:21 all trials being sent for good and by the will of God. Don ye talk to me of God? I know not about him, parson, ye never learned me. Harold's rigid mouth quivered visibly, but he made no direct answer, only saying in the same formal tone. You go to church, at least you used to go. You have heard there about God and his judgments remembering mercy. Mercy, you mon easy say that. Why did he let the poor lad die ye the snow then? And Harold's lips hesitated over those holy words. The Lord gave and the Lord taketh away. He should attack in the old mother then? She's none wanted. But the dear lad? The only one left out a six? Oh, Rubin, Rubin, Rubin, when you never speak to your poor father again?

Starting point is 08:03:11 He looked on the corpse fixedly for some minutes, and then a new thought seemed to strike him. That's not my lad! My merry little lad, I say, he cried, starting up and catching Mr. Gwynn's arm. I say, you parson the dot to know, where's my lad gone to? Harold Gwyn's head sank upon his breast. He made no answer. Perhaps, I and looking at him the thought smote Olive with a great fear. Perhaps to that awful question there was no answer in his soul. John Dent passed him by, and came to the side of Olive Rothsay. Mess, folks say you're a good woman. Don't you know aught of these things? Can I you tell me if I shall meet my poor lad again? And then Olive, casting one glance at Mr. Gwyn,

Starting point is 08:03:57 who remained motionless, sat down beside the childless father and talked to him of God, not the infinite unknown, into whose mysteries the mightiest philosophers may pierce and find no end, but the God mercifully revealed, our Father which is in heaven, he to whom the poor, the sorrowing, and the ignorant may look and not be afraid. Long she spoke, simply, meekly, and earnestly. Her words fell like balm, her looks lightened the gloomy house of woe. When at length she left it, John Dent's eyes followed her, as though she had been a visible angel of peace. It was quite night when she and Harold went out of the cottage. The snow had ceased

Starting point is 08:04:40 falling, but it lay on every tree of the forest like a white shroud, and high above, through the opening of the branches, was seen the blue-black, frosty sky with its innumerable stars. The keen, piercing cold, the utter stirlessness, the mysterious silence, through a sense of death, white death over all things. It was a night when one might faintly dream what the world would be, if the infidels boast were true and there were no God. They walked for some time in perfect silence. Troubled thoughts were careering like storm clouds over Olive's spirit. Wonder was there, and pity, and an indefined dread.

Starting point is 08:05:19 As she leaned on Mr. Gwyn's arm, she had a presentiment that in the heart whose strong beating she could almost feel was prisoned some great secret of woe or wrong, before which she herself would stand aghast. Yet such was the nameless attraction which drew her to this man, that the more she dreaded, the more she longed to discover his mystery whatsoever it might be. She determined to break the silence. Mr. Gwynn, I trust you will not think it presumption in me to have spoken as I did instead of you, but I saw how shocked and overpowered you were, nor wondered at your silence.

Starting point is 08:05:54 He answered in the low tone of one struggling under great excitement. You noticed my silence then. that I summoned as a clergyman to give religious consolation had none to offer. Nay, you did attempt some. I, I tried to preach faith with my lips and could not, because there was none in my heart, no, nor ever will be. Olive looked at him uncomprehending, but he seemed to shrink from her observation. I am indeed truly grieved, she began to say, but he stopped her.

Starting point is 08:06:27 Do not speak to me yet, I pray you. She obeyed, though yearning with pity over him. Hitherto, in all their intercourse, whatever had been his kindness towards her, towards him she had continually felt a sense of restraint, even of fear. That controlling influence, which Mr. Gwynne seemed to exercise over all with whom he deigned to associate, was heavy upon all of Rothsay. Before him she felt more subdued than she had ever done before anyone. In his presence she unconsciously measured her words and garse.

Starting point is 08:06:59 her looks, as if meeting the eye of a master. And he was a master, a man born to rule over the wills of his brethren, swaying them at his lightest breath as the wind bends the grass of the field. But now the scepter seemed torn from his hand. He was a king no more. He walked along, his head drooped, his eyes fixed on the ground, and beholding him thus there came to Olive in the place of fear, a strong compassion, tender as strong and pure as ten. tender. Angel-like it arose in her heart, ready to pierce his darkness with its shining eyes, to fold around him and all his misery its sheltering wings. He was a great and learned man and she a lowly woman, in her knowledge far beneath him, in her faith, oh, how immeasurably above.

Starting point is 08:07:48 She began very carefully, "'You are not well, I fear. This painful scene has been too much even for you. Death seems more horrible to men than to feeble women. death do you think that i feared death and he clenched his hand as though he would battle with the great destroyer no i have met him stood and looked at him until my eyes were blinded and my brain reeled but what am i saying don't heed me miss rothsay don't and he began to walk on hurriedly "'You are ill, I am sure, and there is something that rests on your mind,' said Olive, in a quiet, soft tone. "'What? Have I betrayed anything? I mean, have you anything to charge me with? Have I left any duty unfulfilled, said any words unbecoming a clergyman?' asked he with a freezing haughtiness.

Starting point is 08:08:39 "'Not that I am aware. Forgive me, Mr. Gwyn, if I have trespassed beyond the bounds of our friendship. For we are friends. Have you not often said so?' yes and with truth i respect you miss rothsay you are no thoughtless girl but a woman who has i am sure both felt and suffered i have suffered too therefore it is no marvel we are friends i am glad of it he seldom spoke so frankly and had never done what he now did of his own accord to take and clasp her hand with a friendly air of confidence long after the pressure passed from olive's fingers its remembrance lingered in her heart they walked on a little farther and then he said not without some slight agitation miss rothsay if you are indeed my friend listen to one request i make that you will not say anything think anything of whatever part of my conduct this day may have seemed strange to you i know not what fate it is that has thus placed you a year ago a perfect stranger in a position which forces me to speak to you thus still less can i tell what there is in you which draws from me much that no human being has ever drawn before except this acknowledgment and pardon me nay what have i to pardon oh mr gwynne if i might indeed be your friend if i could but do you any good you do good to me he muttered bitterly why we are as far apart as earth from heaven nay as heaven from hell that is if there be madman that i am miss rothsay do not listen to me why do you lead me on to speak thus indeed i do not comprehend you believe me mr gwynne i know very well the difference between us i am i know very well the difference between us i am

Starting point is 08:10:24 I am an unlearned woman and you. I tell me what I am. That is what you think I am. A wise and good man, but yet one in whom great intellect may at times overpower that simple faith which is above all knowledge, that love which, as said the great apostle of our church, silence!

Starting point is 08:10:44 His deep voice rose and fell like the sound of a breaking wave. Then he stopped, turned full upon her, and said in a fierce, keen whisper, Would you learn the truth? You shall. Know then that I believe in none of these things I teach. I am an infidel. Olive's arm fell from him. Do you shrink from me then? Good and pious woman. Do you think I am Satan standing by your side? Oh no! No! She made an effort to restrain herself. It failed and she burst into tears. Harold looked at her. Meek and gentle soul. It would perhaps have been good for me had Olive Rothsay been born my sister.

Starting point is 08:11:26 I would I had! I would I had! But oh, this is awful to hear! You, an unbeliever! You who all these years have been a minister at the altar! What a fearful! You say right, it is fearful. Think now what my life is and has been. One long lie, a lie to man and to God. For I do believe so far, he added solemnly, I believe in the one ruling spirit of the universe, unknown, unapproachable, none but a madman would deny the existence of a god. He ceased and looked upwards with his piercing eyes, piercing yet full of restless sorrow. Then he approached his companion. Shall we walk on, or do you utterly renounce me, said he, with a touching, sad humility. Renounce you? Ah, you would not, could you know all I have endured. To me,

Starting point is 08:12:20 earth has been a hell, not the place of flames and torments of which your divines prate, but the true hell, that of the conscience and the soul. I, too, a man whose whole nature was a thirst for truth, I sought it first among its professors. There I found that they who, too idle or too weak to demonstrate their creed, took it upon trust, did what they fathers did, believed what their fathers believed, were accounted orthodox and pious men, while those who in their earnest eager youth dared, not as yet to doubt but meekly to ask a reason for their faith, they were at once condemned as impious. But I pain you, shall I go on or cease? Go on. Truth, still truth I yearned for in another form, in domestic peace, in the love of woman.

Starting point is 08:13:10 My soul was famishing for any food. I snatches. this, in my mouth it became ashes. His voice seemed choking, but with an effort he continued. After this time I gave up earth and turned to interests beyond it. With straining eyes I gazed into the infinite, and I was dazzled, blinded, whirled from darkness to light and from light to darkness. No rest, no rest. This state lasted long, but its end came. Now I walk like a man in his sleep, feeling nothing, fearing nothing. No, thou mighty unknown, I do not fear. But then I hope nothing, I believe nothing. Those pleasant dreams of yours, God, heaven, immortality, are to me meaningless words. At times I utter them, and they seem to shine down like pitiless stars upon the black

Starting point is 08:14:01 boiling sea in which I am drowning. "'Oh, God, have mercy!' moaned Olive Roth say. "'Give me strength that my own faith fail not. and that I may bring thy light unto this perishing soul. And turning to Harold, she said aloud, as calmly as she could, Tell me, since you have told me thus far, how you came to take upon yourself the service of the church, You who— Aye, well may you pause and shudder.

Starting point is 08:14:28 Hear then how the devil, if there be one, can mock men's souls in the form of an angel of light. But it is a long history. It may drive me to utter things that you will shrink from. I will hear it. There was, in that soft, firm voice, an influence which Harold perforce obeyed. She was stronger than he, even as light is stronger than darkness. Mr. Gwynn began, speaking quietly, even humbly.

Starting point is 08:14:55 When I was a youth studying for the church, doubts came upon my mind, as they will upon most young minds, whose strivings after truth are hedged in by a thorny rampart of old worn-out forms. Then there came a sudden crisis in my life. I must either enter on a ministry in whose creed I only half believed, or let my mother, my noble, self-denying mother, starve. You know her, Miss Rothsay, though you know not half that she is and ever was to me, but you do know what it is to have a beloved mother. Yes, infidel as he was, she could have clung to Harold Gwynn and called him brother.

Starting point is 08:15:32 Well, after a time of great inward conflict I decided, for her sake, though little more than a boy in years, struggling in a chaos of mingled doubt and faith, I bound myself to believe whatever the church taught, and to lead souls to heaven in the church's own road. These very bonds, this vow so blindly to be fulfilled, made me, in after years, an infidel. He paused to look at her. I am listening, speak on, said Olive Roth say. As you say truly, I am one whose natural bent of mind is less to faith than to knowledge. Above all, I am one who hates all falsehood, all hypocritical show. Perchance, in the desert, I might have learned to serve God. Face to face with him I might have worshipped his revelings. But when, between me and the one great truth, came a thousand petty

Starting point is 08:16:24 veils of cunning forms and blindly taught precedence, when among my brethren I saw wicked men preaching virtue, men without brains enough to acquire a mere worldly profession, such as law or physic, set to expound the mighty mysteries of religion, then I said to myself, the whole system is a lie, so I cast it from me, and my soul stood forth in its naked strength before the creator of all. But why did you still keep up this awful mockery? Because, and his voice sounded hoarse and hollow, just then there was upon me of madness which all men have in youth, love. For that I became a liar in the face of heaven, of men, and of my own soul. It was a great sin. I know it, and being such it fell down upon my head in a curse. Since then I have been what

Starting point is 08:17:15 you now see me, a very honest, painstaking clergyman, doing good, preaching, certainly not doctrine, but blameless moralsies, carrying a civil face to the world and a heart, oh God, "'whosoever and whatsoever thou art, "'thou knowest what blackest darkness there is there.' "'She made no answer. "'After a few minutes, Mr. Gwynn said, "'You must forgive me, Miss Rothsay.' "'I do, and so will he whom you do not know,

Starting point is 08:17:43 "'but whom you will know yet. "'I will pray for you. "'I will comfort you. "'I wish I were indeed your sister, "'that I might never leave you "'until I brought you to faith and peace.' "'He smiled very faintly. "'Thank you.

Starting point is 08:17:57 something to feel there is goodness in the world. I did not believe in any except my mother's. Perhaps if she had known all this, if I could have told her, I had not been the wretched man I am. Hush, do not talk any more. And then she stood beside him for some minutes quite silent until he grew calm. They were on the verge of the forest, close to Olive's home. It was about seven in the evening, but all things lay as in the stillness of midnight. They too might have been the only beings in the living world, all else dead and buried under the white snow. And then, lifting itself out of the horizon's black nothingness, arose the great red moon, like an immortal soul. Look, said Olive, he looked once and no more. Then with a sigh, he placed her arm in his

Starting point is 08:18:46 and walked with her to her own door. Arrived there, he bade her adieu, adding, I would bid God bless you, but in such words for me you would not believe. How could you? he said this with a mournful emphasis to which she could not reply but he continued in a tone of eager anxiety remember that i have trusted you my secret is in your hands you will be silent i know silent as death or eternity that is as both are to me Olive promised, and he left her. She stood listening, until the echo of his footfall ceased along the frosty road. Then, clasping her hands, she lifted once more the petition for those who have erred and are deceived, the prayer which she had once uttered, unconscious how much and by whom it was needed. Now she said it with a yearning cry, a cry that would fain pierce heaven, and ringing above the loud choir of saints and angels, call down mercy on one

Starting point is 08:19:45 perishing human soul. End of chapter 30. Chapter 31 of Olive. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dinah Maria Crake. Chapter 31. Never since her birth had Olive felt such a bewildering weight of pain, as when she awoke to the full sense of that terrible secret which she had learned from Harold Gwynne.

Starting point is 08:20:17 This pain lasted, and would last, not alone, for an hour or a day, but perpetually. It gathered round her like a mist. She seemed to walk blindfold, she knew not wither. Never to her, whose spiritual sense was ever so clear and strong, had come the possibility of such a mind as heralds, a mind whose very eagerness for truth had led it into skepticism. His doubts must be wrestled with, not with the religion of precedent, not even with the religion of feeling, but by means of that clear demonstration of reason which forces conviction. In the dead of night, when all was still, when the frosty moon cast an unearthly light over her chamber, Olive lay and thought of these things. Ever and anon

Starting point is 08:21:03 she heard the striking of the clock, and remembered with horror that it heralded the Sabbath morning when she must go to Harbury Church, and hear, oh, with what feelings, the service read by one who did not believe a single word he uttered. Not until now had she so thoroughly realized the horrible sacrilege of Harold's daily life. For a minute she felt as though to keep his secret were associating herself with his sin. But calmer thoughts enabled her to judge him more mercifully. She tried to view his case not as with her own eyes, but as it must appear to him. To one who disbelieved the Christian faith, the repetitions of its forms could seem but a mere idle mummery. He suffered, not for having outraged heaven, but for having outraged to

Starting point is 08:21:50 own conscience, an agony of self-humiliation which must be to him a living death. Then again there awoke in Olive's heart a divine pity, and once more she dared to pray that this soul, in which was so much that was true and earnest, might not be cast out but guided into the right way. Yet who should do it? He was, as he had said, drowning in a black abyss of despair, and there was no human hand to save him. None save that feeble one of hers. feeble, but there was one who could make it strong. Suddenly she felt in her that consciousness which the weakest have at times felt, and which, however the rationalist may scoff, the Christian dare not disbelieve,

Starting point is 08:22:34 that sense of not working, but being worked upon, by which truths come into one's heart and words into one's mouth, involuntarily, as if some spirit, not our own, were at work within us. Such had been oftentimes the case with her, but never so strong as now. A voice seemed breathed into her soul. Be not afraid. She arose, her determination taken. No, she thought, as standing at the window she watched the sun rise gloriously.

Starting point is 08:23:05 No, Lord, my Lord and my God, I am not afraid. Nevertheless, she suffered exceedingly, to bear the burden of this heavy secret, to keep it from her mother, to disguise it before Mrs. Gwynn, above all, to go to church and have the ministry of such an one as Harold between her and heaven. This last was the most awful point of all, but she could not escape it without betraying him, and it seemed to her that the sin, if sin it were, would be forgiven. Nay, her voluntary presence might even strike his conscience. It was so. When Harold beheld her, his cheeks grew ashen pale. All through the service his reading at times faltered and his eyes were lowered. Once, too, during the epistle for the day,

Starting point is 08:23:51 which chanced to be the sixth Sunday after Epiphany, the plain words of St. John seemed to attract his notice, and his voice took an accent of keen sorrow. Yet when Olive passed out of the church, she felt as though she had spent their years of torture. Such torture as no earthly power should make her endure again, and it so chanced that she was not called upon to do so. Within a week from that time Mrs. Rothsay sank into a state of great feebleness, not indicating positive danger, but still so nearly resembling illness that Olive could not quit her, even for an hour. This painful interest, engrossing all her thoughts, shut out from them even Harold Gwynn. She saw little of him, though she heard that he came almost daily to inquire at the door,

Starting point is 08:24:36 but for a long time he rarely crossed the threshold. Harold is like all men. He does not understand sickness, said that most kind and constant friend, Mrs. Gwynne. You must forgive him both of you. I tell him often it would be an example for him, or for any clergyman in England to see Olive here, the best and most pious daughter that ever lived. He thinks so, too. For once when I hoped that his own daughter might be like her, you should have heard the earnestness of his Amen. This circumstance touched olive deeply, and strengthened her the more in that work to which she had determined to devote herself. and a secret hope told her that airing souls are oftentimes reclaimed less by a Christian's preaching than by a Christian's life.

Starting point is 08:25:21 And so, though they did not meet again alone, and no words on the one awful subject passed between them, Harold began to come often to the dell. Mrs. Rothsay's lamp of life was paling so gradually that not even her child knew how soon it would cease to shine among those to whom its every ray was so precious and so beautiful, more beautiful as it drew nearer its clothes. Yet there was no sorrow at the dell but great peace, a peace so holy that it seemed to rest upon all who entered there. These were not a few. Never was there anyone who gained so many kindly attentions as Mrs. Rothsay. Even the wild young floodiers inquired after her every day. Crystal, who was almost domiciled at the hall, and seemed by some invisible attraction most disinclined to leave it, was yet a daily visitor. Her high,

Starting point is 08:26:11 spirit softened to gentleness whenever she came near the invalid. As to Lyle Durwint, he positively haunted them. His affectations dropped off, he ceased his sentimentalities, and never quoted a single line of poetry. To Olive he appeared in a more pleasing light, and she treated him with her old regard. As for him, he adored the very ground she trod upon. A ministering angel could not have been more hallowed in his eyes. He often made Mrs. Rothsay and Olive's smile with his raptures, and the latter said sometimes that he was certainly the same enthusiastic little boy who had been her night in the garden by the river. She never thought of him otherwise, and though he often tried, in half-gesting indignation, to assure her that he was quite a man now, he seemed still a lad to her. There was the difference of a lifetime between his juvenile romance and her calm reality of six and twenty years.

Starting point is 08:27:05 She did not always feel so old, though. When kneeling by her mother's side, amusing her, Olive still felt a very child, and there were times when near Harold Gwynn, she grew once more a feeble, timid girl. But now that secret bond between them was held in abeyance, their intercourse sank within its former boundary. Even his influence could not compete with that affection,

Starting point is 08:27:28 which had been the day-star of Olive's life. No other human tie could come between her and her mother. "'Beautiful it was to see them, clinging together so closely "'that none of those who loved both had the courage to tell them how soon they must part. "'Sometimes Mrs. Gwynn would watch Olive, with a look that seemed to ask, "'child, have you strength to bear? "'But she herself had not the strength to tell her. "'Besides, it seemed as though these close cords of love were knitted so tightly around the mother,

Starting point is 08:27:57 "'and every breath of her fading life so fondly cherished, "'that she could not perforce to part. months might pass ere that frail tabernacle was quite dissolved. As the winter glided away, Mrs. Rothsey seemed much better. One evening in March, when Harold Gwyn came laden with a whole basket of violets, he said, and truly, that she was looking as blooming as the spring itself. Olive coincided in this opinion, nay, declared, smiling, that anyone would fancy her mother was only making pretense of illness

Starting point is 08:28:29 to win more kindness and consideration. "'As if you had not enough of that from everyone, Mama. "'I never knew such a spoilt darling in all my life, "'and yet see Mr. Gwynne how meekly she bears it, "'and how beautiful and content she looks. "'It was true. "'Let us draw the picture which lived in Olive's memory evermore. "'Mrs. Rothsay sat in a little low chair,

Starting point is 08:28:52 "'her own chair which no one else ever claimed. "'She did not wear an invalid's shawl, "'but a graceful wrapping gown of pale colors, "'such as she had always loved, "'and which suited well her death. delicate, fragile beauty. Closely tied over her silvery hair, the only sign of age, was a little cap whose soft pink gauze lay against her cheek, that cheek which even now was all unwrinkled, and tinted with a lovely faint rose-color like a young girl's. Her eyes were cast down. She had a habit

Starting point is 08:29:22 of doing this lest others might see there the painful expression of blindness, but her mouth smiled a serene, cheerful, holy smile, such as is rarely seen on human face. save when Earth's dearest happiness is beginning to melt away, dimmed in the coming brightness of heaven. Her little thin hands lay crossed on her knee, one finger playing as she often did with her wedding ring, now worn to a mere thread of gold. Her daughter looked at her with eyes of passionate yearning that threw in one minute's gaze the love of a whole lifetime. Harold Gwynn looked at her too and then at Olive. He thought, can she, if she knows what I know, Can she be resigned, nay, happy? Then what a sublime faith hers must be.

Starting point is 08:30:07 Olive seemed not to see him, but only her mother. She gazed and gazed, then she came and knelt before Mrs. Rotsay, and wound her arms round her. Darling, kiss me, or I shall fear you are growing quite an angel, an angel with wings. There lurked a troubled tone beneath the playfulness. She rose up quickly and began to talk to Mr. Gwynn. They had a pleasant evening all three together, for Mrs. Rothsay, knowing that Harold was lonely, since his mother and Ely had gone away on a week's visit, prevailed upon him to stay. He read to them, Mrs. Rothsay was fond of hearing him read, and to Olive the world's richest music was in his deep, pathetic voice, more especially when reading, as he did now, with great earnestness and emotion. The poem was not one of his own choosing,

Starting point is 08:30:55 but of Mrs. Rothsay's. She listened eagerly while he read from Tennyson's May Queen. Upon the chancel casement, and upon that grave of mine, in the early, early morning the summer sun will shine. I shall not forget you, mother, I shall hear you when you pass, with your feet above my head on the long and pleasant grass. Good night, good night, when I have said good night for evermore, and you see me carried out from the threshold of the door. Don't let Effie come to see me till my grave is growing green.

Starting point is 08:31:26 She'll be a better child to you than I have ever been. Here Harold paused, for looking at Olive he saw her tears falling fast, but Mrs. Rothsay, generally so easily touched, was now quite unmoved. On her face was a soft calm. She said to herself musingly, How terrible for one's child to die first, but I shall never know that pang. Go on, Mr. Gwynn. He read, what words for him to read, the concluding stanzas, and as he did so, the movement

Starting point is 08:31:57 of Mrs. Rothsay's lips seemed silently to follow them. Oh, sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere this day is done, the voice which now is speaking may be beyond the sun, forever and forever with those just souls and true, and what is life that we should moan, why make we such a do? Forever and forever all in a blessed home, and there to wait a little while till you and Effie come, to lie within the light of God as I lie upon your breast, where the way of the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest. After he concluded they were all three very silent, what thoughts were in each heart? Then Mrs. Rothesay said,

Starting point is 08:32:39 "'Now, my child, it is growing late. Read to us yourself out of the best book of all.' "'And when Olive was gone to fetch it,' she added, "'Mr. Gwyn will pardon my not asking him to read the Bible, but a child's voice sounds so sweet in a mother's ears, especially when—' She stopped, for Olive just then entered. Where shall I read, Mama? Where I think we have come to, reading every night as we do, the last few chapters of the revelations. Olive read them, the blessed words, the delight of her childhood,

Starting point is 08:33:11 telling of the heavenly kingdom and the afterlife of the just, and he heard them, he who believed in neither. He sat in the shadow, covering his face with his hands, or lifting it at times with a blind, despairing look, like that of one who, staggering in darkness, sees afar a faint light, and yet cannot, dare not believe in its reality. When he bade Mrs. Roth say good-night, she held his hand and said, God bless you, with more than her usual kindness. He drew back as if the words stung him. Then he wrung Olive's hand, looked at her a moment as if to say something, but said it not,

Starting point is 08:33:48 and quitted the house. The mother and daughter were alone. They clasped their arms round each other, and sat a little while listening to the wild march wind. It is just such a night as that on which we came to Farnwood. Is it not, darling? Yes, my child, and we have been very happy here. Happier, I think, than I have ever been in my life. Remember that, love, always. She said these words with a beautiful, life-beaming smile.

Starting point is 08:34:16 Then, leaning on Olive's shoulder, she lifted herself rather feebly from her little chair and prepared to walk upstairs. Tired are you? I wish I could carry you, darling. I almost think I could. You carry me in your heart, ever more, Olive. You bear all my feebleness, troubles, and pain. God ever bless you, my daughter. When Olive came down once more to the little parlor, she thought it looked rather lonely. However, she stayed a minute or two, put her mother's little chair in the corner,

Starting point is 08:34:46 and her mother's knitting-basket beside it. It will be ready for her when she comes down again. Then she went upstairs to bed, and mother and daughter fell asleep, as ever, closely clasped in each other's arms. End of Chapter 32 of Olive. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dinah Maria Crake, Chapter 32. My child! The feeble call startled Olive out of a dream, wherein she was walking through one of those lovely visionary landscapes, more glorious than any ever seen by day, with her mother and with Harold Gwynn. "'Yes, darling,' she answered, in a sleepy, happy voice, thinking at a continuation of the dream. "'Olive, I feel ill, very ill. I have a dull pain here near my heart. I cannot breathe. It is so

Starting point is 08:35:46 strange, so strange.' Quickly the daughter rose and groped through the faint dawn for a light. She was long accustomed to all offices of tender care by night and by day. This sudden illness gave her little alarm. Her mother had so many slight ailments. But nevertheless she roused the household and applied all the simple remedies which she so well knew how to use. But there must come a time when all physician's arts fail. It was coming now. Mrs. Rothsay's illness increased, and the daylight broke upon a chamber,

Starting point is 08:36:18 where more than one anxious face bent over the poor blind suffering. who suffered so meekly. She did not speak much. She only held closely to Olive's dress, sorrowfully murmuring now and then, my child, my child! Once or twice she eagerly besought those around her to try all means for her restoration, and seemed anxiously to expect the coming of the physician. For Olive's sake! For Olive's sake was all the reason she gave. And suddenly it entered into Olive's mind that her mother felt herself about to die. Her mother about to die! She paused a moment, and then flung the horror from her as a thing utterly impossible. So many illnesses as Mrs. Rothesay had passed through, so many times as her daughter had clasped her close, and dared death to come

Starting point is 08:37:08 nigh one who was shielded by so much love, it could not be. There was no cause for dread. yet Olive waited restlessly during the morning, which seemed of frightful length. She busied herself about the room, talking constantly to her mother, and, by degrees, when the physician still delayed, her voice took a quick, sharp, anxious tone. Hush, love, hush, was the soft reproof. Be content, Olive, he will come in time. I shall recover, if it so please God. Of course, of course you will.

Starting point is 08:37:41 Don't talk in that way, Mama. she dared not trust herself to say darling she spoke even less caressingly than usual lest her mother might think there was any dread upon her mind but gradually when she heard the strange patience of mrs rothsay's voice and saw the changes in the beloved face she began to tremble once her wild glance darted upward in almost threatening despair god thou wilt not thou canst not do this and when at last she heard the ringing of hoofs and saw the physician's horse at the gate. She could not stay to speak with him, but fled out of the room. She composed herself in time to meet him when he came downstairs. She was glad that he was a stranger, so that she had to be restrained, and to ask him in a calm, everyday voice, what he thought of her mother. "'You are Miss Rothsay, I believe,' he answered indirectly. "'I am. Is there no one to help you in nursing your mother? Are you here quite alone?' "'Quite alone.'

Starting point is 08:38:41 dr witherington took her hand kindly too my dear miss rothsay i would not deceive i never do if your mother has any relatives to send for any business to arrange ah i see i know do not say any more she closed her eyes faintly and leaned against the wall had she loved her mother with a love less intense less self-devoted less utterly absorbing in its passion at that moment she would have gone mad or died there was one little low sigh and then upon her great height of woe she rose rose to a superhuman calm you would tell me then that there is no hope he looked on the ground and said nothing and how long how long it may be six hours it may be twelve i fear it cannot be more than twelve and then he began to give consolation in the only way that lay in his poor power explaining that in a frame so shattered the spirit could not have lingered long and might have lingered in much suffering it was best as it was he said and olive knowing all bowed her head and answered yes she thought not of herself she thought only of the enfeebled body about to be released from earthly pain of the soul before whom heaven was even now opened does she know did you tell her i did she asked me and i thought it right thus both knew mother and child that a few brief hours were all that lay between their love and eternity and knowing this they again met with the step so soft that it could have reached no ear but that of a dying woman olive re-entered the room is that my child my mother my own mother close and why

Starting point is 08:40:33 Wild and strong, wild as love and strong as death was the clasp that followed. No words passed between them, not one, until Mrs. Rothsay said faintly, "'My child, are you content? Quite content.' Olive answered, I am content. And in her uplifted eyes was a silent voice that seemed to say, "'Take, O God, this treasure which I give out of my arms unto thine. Take and keep it for me, safe until the eternal meeting.' Slowly the day sank, and the night came down.

Starting point is 08:41:06 Very still and solemn was that chamber, but there was no sorrow there, no weeping, no struggle of life with death. After a few hours all suffering ceased, and Mrs. Rothsay lay quiet, sometimes in her daughter's arms, sometimes with olives sitting by her side. Now and then they talked together, holding peaceful communion like friends about to part for a long journey, in which neither wished to leave unsaid any words of love or counsel, but all was spoken calmly, hopefully, and without grief or fear. As midnight approached, Olive's eyes grew heavy, and a strange drowsiness oppressed her. Many a watcher has doubtless felt this,

Starting point is 08:41:48 the dull stupor which comes over heart and brain, sometimes even compelling sleep, though some beloved one lies dying. Hannah, who sat up with Olive, tried to persuade her to go down and some coffee which she had prepared. Mrs. Rothsay, overhearing, entreated the same, "'It will do you good. You must keep strong, my child.' "'Yes, darling.' Olive went down in the little parlor and forced herself to take food and drink. As she sat there by herself, in the still night, with the wind howling round the cottage, she tried to realize the truth that her mother was then dying, that ere another day

Starting point is 08:42:25 in this world she would be alone, quite alone forevermore. Yet there she sat, wrapped in that awful calm. When Olive came back, Mrs. Rothsay roused herself and asked for some wine. Her daughter gave it. It is very good. All things are very good, very sweet to me from Olive's hand. My only daughter, my life's comfort, I bless God for thee. After a while, she said, passing her hand over her daughter's cheek, Olive, little Olive, I wish I could see your face, just once, once more.

Starting point is 08:43:00 It feels almost as small and soft as when you are a little babe at Sterling." And saying this there came a cloud over Mrs. Rothesay's face, but soon it went away as she continued. "'Child, listen to something I never told you, never could have told you until now. Just after you were born I dreamt a strange dream, that I lost you, and there came to me in your stead an angel, who comforted me and guided me through a long, weary way, until, in parting I knew that it was indeed my olive. All this has came true save that I did not lose you.

Starting point is 08:43:34 I wickedly cast you from me. I, God forgive me. There was a time when I, a mother, had no love for the child I bore. She wept a little and held Olive with a closer strain as she proceeded. I was punished, for in forsaking my child I lost my husband's love, at least not all but for a time. But God pardoned me and sent my child back to me, as I saw her in my dream, an angel, to guard me through many troubled ways, to lead me safe to

Starting point is 08:44:04 the eternal shore. And now, when I am going away, I say with my whole soul, God bless my Olive, the most loving and dutious daughter that ever mother had, and God will bless her evermore. One moment with a passionate burst of anguish, Olive cried, oh, mother, mother stay, do not go and leave me in this bitter world alone. It was the only moment. she made. When she saw the anguish it caused to her so peacefully dying, she stilled it at once. And then God's comfort came down upon her, and that night of death was full of a peace so deep that it was most like happiness. In after years Olive thought of it as if it had been spent at the doors of heaven. Toward morning Mrs. Rothsay said, My child, you are tired. Lie down here

Starting point is 08:44:51 beside me. And so, with her head on the same pillow and her arm thrown round her mother's neck, olive lay as she had lain every night for so many years once or twice mrs rothsay spoke again as passing thoughts seemed to arise but her mind was perfectly composed and clear she mentioned several that she regarded among the rest mrs gwynn to whom she left her love and to crystal too olive she has many faults but remember she was good to me and i was fond of her always take care of crystal "'I will. And is there no one else to whom I shall give your love, Mama?' She thought a minute, and answered, "'Yes, to Mr. Gwynn. And as if in that dying hour there came to the mother's heart both clear-sightedness and prophecy, she said earnestly, "'I am very glad I have known Harold Gwynn. I wish she had been here now,

Starting point is 08:45:46 that I might have blessed him, and begged him all his life long to show kindness and tenderness to my child. After this she spoke of earthly things no more. but her thoughts went, like heralds, far into the eternal land. Thither her daughters followed likewise, until, like the martyr Stephen, Olive almost seemed to see the heavens opened, and the angels of God standing around the throne. Her heart was filled, not with anguish, but with an awful joy, which passed not even, when lifting her head from the pillow, she saw that over her mother's face was coming a change, the change that comes but once.

Starting point is 08:46:23 "'My child, are you still there? Yes, darling. That is well. All is well now. Little Olive kiss me.' Olive bent down and kissed her. With that last kiss she received her mother's soul. Then she suffered the old servant to lead her from the room. She never wept. It would have appeared sacrilege to weep. She went to the open door and stood, looking to the east where the sun was rising. Through the golden clouds she almost seemed to behold ascending, the freed spirit upon whom had just dawned the everlasting morning. An hour after, when she was all alone in the little parlor, lying on the sofa with her eyes closed, she heard entering a well-known step. It was Harold Gwyns. He looked much agitated. At first he drew back as though fearing to approach,

Starting point is 08:47:13 then he came up and took her hand very tenderly. Alas, Miss Rothsay, what can i say to you she shed a few tears less for her own sorrow than because she was touched by his kindness i would have been here yesterday continued he but i was away from harbury yet what help what comfort could you have received from me olive turned to him her face in whose pale serenity yet lingered the light which had guided her through the valley of the shadow of death god she whispered has helped me he has taken from me the desire of my eyes, and yet I have peace, perfect peace. Harold looked at her with astonishment. Tell me, he muttered involuntarily, whence comes this peace. From God, as I feel him in my soul, as I read of him in the revelation of his word. Harold was silent.

Starting point is 08:48:09 His aspect of hopeless misery went to Olive's heart. Oh, that I could give to you this peace, this faith! Alas, if I knew what reason you have for yours. Olive paused. An awful thing it was, with the dead lying in the chamber above, to wrestle with the unbelief of the living. But it seemed as if the spirit of her mother had passed into her spirit, giving her strength to speak with words not her own.

Starting point is 08:48:36 What if, in the inscrutable purposes of heaven, this hour of death was to be to him an hour of new birth? So, repressing all grief and weakness, Olive said, "'Let us talk a little of the things "'which in times like this "'come home to us as the only realities. "'To you, not to me,

Starting point is 08:48:55 "'you forget the gulf between us.' "'Nay,' said Olive earnestly, "'you believe as I do in one God, "'the creator and ruler of this world.' "'Herald made solemn assent. "'Of this world,' she continued, "'wherein is so much of beauty, happiness and love. "'And can that exist in the created

Starting point is 08:49:14 "'which is not in the creation?' must not therefore the great spirit of the universe be a spirit of love your argument contradicts itself was the desponding answer can you speak thus you whose heart yet bleeds with recent suffering suffering which my faith has changed into joy never until this hour did i look so clearly from this world into the world of souls never did i so strongly feel within me the presence of god's spirit a pledge for the immortality of mine. Immortality. Alas, that dream. And yet, he added, looking at her reverently, even with tenderness, I could half believe that a life like yours, so full of purity and goodness, can never be destined to perish. And can you believe in human goodness, yet doubt him who alone can be its origin? Can you think that he would give the yearning for the hereafter and yet deny its fulfillment, that he would implant in us love when there was nothing to love, and faith when

Starting point is 08:50:18 there was nothing to believe. Harold seemed struck. You speak plain, reasonable words, not like the vain babblers of contradictory creeds. Yet you do profess a creed, you join in the church's service. Because, though differing from many of its doctrines, I think its forms of worship are pure, perhaps the purest extant. But I do not set up the church between myself and God. I follow no ritual and trust, no creed, except so far as it is conformable to the instinct of faith, the inward revelation of himself which he has implanted in my soul, and to that outward revelation, the nearest and clearest that he has ever given of himself to men, the divine revelation of love which I find here, in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus'

Starting point is 08:51:08 Christ, my Lord. As she spoke, her hand rested on the Bible out of which she had last read to her mother. It opened at the very place, and from it there dropped the little bookmarker which Mrs. Rothsay always used, one worked by Olive in her childish days. The sight drew her down to the helplessness of human woe. Oh, my mother! My mother! She bowed her head upon her knees, and for some minutes wept bitterly. Then she rose somewhat calmer. "'I am going upstairs.' "'Her voice failed.' "'I know, I know,' said Harold.

Starting point is 08:51:44 "'She spoke of you. "'They were almost her last words. "'You will come with me, friend.' "'Harold was a man who never wept, "'never could weep, "'but his face grew pale, "'and there came over him a great awe. "'His step faltered, even more than her own,

Starting point is 08:52:00 "'as he followed Olive upstairs. "'Her hand trembled a moment on the latch of the door. "'No,' she said, as if to herself. No, it is not my mother. My mother is not here. Then she went in composedly, and uncovered the face of the dead, Harold standing beside her. Olive was the first to speak. See, she whispered, how very placid and beautiful it looks, like her and yet unlike. I never for a moment feel that it is my mother. Harold regarded with amazement the daughter newly orphaned, who stood serenely beholding her dead.

Starting point is 08:52:37 He took Olive's hand, softly and with reverence, as if there were something sacred in her touch. His she scarcely seemed to feel, but continued, speaking in the same tranquil voice. Two hours ago we were so happy she and I, talking together of holy things and of the love we had borne each other, and can such love end with death? Can I believe that one moment the fleeting of a breath has left of my mother only this?" She turned from the bed and met Harold's eyes. intense a thirst, as if his soul's life were in her words.

Starting point is 08:53:13 You are calm, very calm, he murmured. You stand here and have no fear of death. No, for I have seen my mother die. Her last breath was on my mouth. I felt her spirit pass, and I knew that it was passing unto God. And you can rejoice. Yes, since for all I lose on earth, heaven, the place of souls which we call heaven, whatever or wherever that may be,

Starting point is 08:53:37 grows nearer to me. It will seem the more my home. Now I have a mother there." Harold Gwynne fell on his knees at the bedside, crying out, Oh, God, that I could believe! End of Chapter 32. Chapter 33 of Olive. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dinah Maria Crake. Chapter 33. It was again the season of late summer, and time's soothing shadow had risen up between the daughter and her grief. The grave in the beautiful churchyard of Harbury was bright with many months' growth of grass and

Starting point is 08:54:22 flowers. It never looked dreary, nay, often seemed almost to smile. It was watered by no tears. It never had been. Those which olive shed were only for her own loneliness, and at times she felt that even these were wrong. Many people, seeing how calm she was, and how, after a season, she fell into her old pursuits and her kindly duties to all around, used to say, who would have thought that Miss Rothsay

Starting point is 08:54:49 would have forgotten her mother so easily? But she did not forget. Selfish worldly mourners are they, who think that the memory of the beloved lost can only be kept green by tears. Olive Rothsay was not of these. To her, her mother's departure appeared no more like death, then did one divine parting, with reverence be it spoken, appear to those who stood and looked upward from the hill of Bethany. And thus should we think upon all happy and holy deaths, if we fully and truly believed the faith we own? Olive did not forget her mother. She could as soon have forgotten her own soul. In all her actions, words, and thoughts, this most sacred memory abided, a continual presence, silent as sweet, and sweet as holy.

Starting point is 08:55:37 When her many and most affectionate friends had beguiled her into cheerfulness, so that they fancied she had put aside her sorrow, she used to say in her heart, "'See, mother, I can think of you and not grieve. I would not that it should pain you to know I suffer still.' Yet human feelings could not utterly be suppressed, and there were many times, when at night-time she buried her face on the now lonely pillow and stretched out her arms into the empty darkness, crying, my mother, oh, my mother!

Starting point is 08:56:07 But then strong love came between Olive and her agony, whispering that wherever her spirit abided, the mother could not forget her child. Olive looked very calm now, as she sat with Mrs. Gwynne in the bay window of the little drawing-room at the parsonage, engaged in some light work, with Ely reading a lesson at her knee.

Starting point is 08:56:27 It was a lesson too taken from that lore, at once the most simple and most divine, the Gospels of the New Testament. i thought my son would prove himself right in all his opinions observed mrs gwynne when the lesson was over and the child had run away i knew he would allow islie to learn everything at the right time olive made no answer her thoughts turned to the day now some months back when stung by the disobedience and falsehood that lay hid in a young mind which knew no higher law than a human parent's command harold had come to her for counsel she remembered his almost despairing words "'Teach the child as you will, true or false, I care not, so that she becomes like yourself and is saved from those doubts which rack her father's soul.' Harold Gwynne was not singular in this. Scarcely ever was there an unbeliever who

Starting point is 08:57:19 desired to see his own skepticism reflected in his child. Mrs. Gwynne continued, "'I don't think I can ever sufficiently thank you, my dear Miss Rothsay.' "'Say Olive, as you generally do. for her Christian name sounded so sweet and home-like from Harold's mother, especially now. Olive, then, my dear, how good you are to take Ely so entirely under your care and teaching. But for that we must have sent her to some school from home, and I will not conceal from you that would have been a great sacrifice, even in a worldly point of view, since our income is

Starting point is 08:57:53 much diminished by my sons having been obliged to resign his duties altogether, and take a curate. But tell me, do you think Harold looks any better? What better, what an anxious summer this has been. And Olive, hearing the heavy sigh of the mother, whose whole existence was bound up in her son, felt that there was something holy even in that deceit, or rather concealment, wherein she herself was now a sorely tried sharer. You must not be too anxious, she said. You know that there is nothing dangerous in Mr. Gwyn's state of health, only his brain has

Starting point is 08:58:25 been overworked. I suppose so, and perhaps it was the best plan for him to give up all clerical duties for at time. I think, too, that these frequent absences do him good. I hope so, too. Besides, seeing that he is not positively disabled by illness, his parishioners might think it peculiar that he should continually remain among them, and yet abstain from preaching. But my Harold is a strange being, he always was. Sometimes I think his heart is not in his calling, that he would have been more happy as a man of science than as a clergyman. Yet of late he has ceased even that favorite pursuit, and though he spends whole days in his study, I sometimes

Starting point is 08:59:04 find that he has not displaced one book, except the large Bible which I gave him when he went to college. God bless him, my dear Harold. Olive's inmost heart echoed the blessing, and in the same words, for of late, perhaps with more frequently hearing him called by the familiar home appellation, she had thought of him less as Mr. Gwynn than as Harold. I wonder what makes your blithe crystal so late, observed Mrs. Gwynne, abruptly, as if disliking to betray further emotion. Lyle Durwint promised to bring her himself. Much against his will, though, she added, smiling. He seems quite afraid of Miss Manners. He says she teases him so. But she suffers no one else to do it. If I say a word against Lyle's little peculiarity, she is quite indignant.

Starting point is 08:59:52 I rather think she likes him, that is, as much as she likes any of her friends. There is little depth of affection in Crystal's nature. She is too proud. She feels no need of love and therefore cares not to win it. "'Do you know, Olive?' continued Mrs. Gwyn. "'If I must expose all my weaknesses, there was a time when I watched Miss Manners more closely than anyone guesses. It was from a mother's jealousy over her son's happiness, for I often heard her name coupled with heralds. "'So have I more than once,' said Olive, but I thought at the time how idle was the rumor. It was idle, my dear, but I did not quite think so then. Indeed, there was a little quick gesture of surprise, and Olive, ceasing her work,

Starting point is 09:00:37 looked inquiringly at Mrs. Gwynne. Men cannot do without love, and having once been married, Harold's necessity for a good wife's sympathy and affection is the greater. I always expected that my son would marry again, and therefore I have eagerly watched every young woman whom he might meet in society and be disposed to be disposed. to choose. All men, especially clergymen, are better married, at least in my opinion. Even you yourself as Harold's friend, his most valued friend, must acknowledge that he would be much happier with a second wife. What was there in this frank speech that smote olive with a secret pain?

Starting point is 09:01:14 Was it the unconscious distinction drawn between her and all other women on whom Harold might look with admiring eyes, so that his mother, while calling her his friend, never dreamed of her being anything more. Olive knew not whence came the pain, yet she still felt it was there. Certainly he would, she answered, speaking in a slow, quiet tone. Nevertheless, I should scarcely think Crystal a girl whom Mr. Gwynn would be likely to select. Nor I, at first, deeming her something like the first Mrs. Herald, I had my doubts, but they quickly vanished. My son will never marry Crystal manners.

Starting point is 09:01:51 Olive, sitting at the window, looked up. It seemed to her as if over the room had come a lightness like the passing away of the cloud. Nor, at present, pursued Mrs. Gwynn. Does it appear to me likely that he will marry at all? I fear that domestic love, the strong yet quiet tenderness of a husband to a wife, is not in his nature. Passion is, or was in his youth, but he is not young now. In his first hasty marriage I knew that the fire would soon burn itself out,

Starting point is 09:02:21 It has left nothing but ashes. Once he deceived himself, and sorely he has reaped the fruits of his folly, the result is that he will live to old age without ever having known the blessing of true love. "'Is that so mournful, then?' said Olive, more as if thinking aloud than speaking. Mrs. Gwyn did not hear the words, for she had started up at the sound of a horse's hoofs at the gate. "'If that should be Harold! He said he would be at home this week or next.

Starting point is 09:02:49 It is. It is he! "'How glad I am! That is, I am glad that he should be in time to see the fledgers and mismanners "'before their journey to-morrow.' "'Thus, from Long-Habbit, trying to make excuses for her overflowing tenderness, she hurried out. "'Aulive heard Mr. Gwyn's voice in the hall, his anxious, tender inquiry for his mother, "'even the quick flying step of little Isley bounding to meet Papa. "'She paused. Her work fell and a mist came over her eyes.

Starting point is 09:03:17 "'She felt, then, as she had sometimes done before, though never seen. so strongly that it was hard to be in the world alone. This thought haunted her a while, until at last it was banished by the influence of one of those pleasant social evenings, such as were often spent at the parsonage. The whole party, including Crystal and Lyle, were assembled in the twilight, the two latter keeping up a sort of Benedict and Beatrice warfare. Harold and his mother seemed both very quiet. They sat close together, her hand sometimes resting caressingly on his shoulder or his

Starting point is 09:03:50 knee. It was a new thing, this outward show of affection, but of late since his health had declined, and in truth he had often looked and been very ill, there had come a touching softness between the mother and son. Olive Rothsay sat a little apart, a single lamp lighting her at her work, for she was not idle. Following her old master's example, she was continually making studies from life for the picture on which she was engaged. She took a pleasure in filling it with idealized heads, of which the originals had place in her own warm affections. Crystal was there, with her gracefully turned throat, and the singular charm of her black eyes and fair hair. Lyle, too, with his delicate, womanish, but yet handsome face. Nor was Mrs. Gwynn

Starting point is 09:04:34 forgotten. Olive made great use of her well-outlined form and her majestic sweep of drapery. There was one only of the group who had not been limned by Miss Rothsay. "'If I were my brother-in-law, I should take it as quite an ill compliment that you had never asked him to sit,' observed Lyle. "'But,' he added in a whisper, "'I don't suppose any artist would care to paint such a hard, rugged-looking fellow as Gwynn.' Olive looked on the pretty red and white of the boyish dabbler in art, for Lyle had lately taken a fancy that way too, and then at the countenance he maligned. She did not say a word, but Lyle hovering round, found his interference somewhat sharply put aside during the whole evening. When assembled round the supper-table they talked of Crystal's journey.

Starting point is 09:05:19 It was undertaken by invitation of Mrs. Fludger, to whom the young damsel had made herself quite indispensable. Her liveliness charmed away the idle ladies' enwee, while her pride and love of aristocratic exclusiveness equally gratified the same feelings for her patroness. And from the mist that enrapped her origin, the ingenious and perhaps self-deceived young creature, had contrived to evolve such a grand fable of ancient descent and noble but reduced family, that everybody regarded her in the same light as she regarded herself. And surely, as the quick-sighted Mrs. Gwynn often said, no daughter of a long illustrious line was ever prouder than Crystal Manners. She indulged the party with a brilliant account of Mrs. Fledger's

Starting point is 09:06:03 anticipations of pleasure at Brighton, whither the whole family at the hall were bound. "'Really we shall be quite desolate without a single soul left at Farnwood, shall we not, Olive,' observed Mrs. Gwynne. Olive answered, "'Yes, very, without much considering of the matter. Her thoughts were with Harold, who was leaning back in his chair, absorbed in one of those fits of musing which with him were not unfrequent, and which no one ever regarded save herself. How deeply solemn it was to her at such times, to feel that she alone held the key of his soul, that it lay open with all its secrets, to her and to her alone. What marvel was it if this knowledge sometimes

Starting point is 09:06:42 moved her with strange sensations, most of all, while beholding the reserved exterior which he bore in society? She remembered the times when she had seen him goaded into terrible emotion, or softened to the weakness of a child. At Olive's mechanical affirmative, Lyle Durwant brightened up amazingly. Miss Rothsay, I—I don't intend going away, believe me. Crystal turned quickly. round. What are you saying, Mr. Derwent? He hung his head and looked foolish. I mean that Brighton is too gay and thoughtless and noisy a place for me. I would rather stay at Harbury. You fickle, changeable, sentimental creature! I wouldn't be a man like you for the world! And reckless crystal burst into a fit of laughter much louder than seemed warranted by the occasion.

Starting point is 09:07:31 Lyle seemed much annoyed, whereupon his friend Miss Rothsay considerably interposed and passed to some other subject which lasted until the hour of departure. The three walked to the dell together, crystal jesting incessantly, either with or at Lyle Durwint. Olive walked beside them rather silent than otherwise. She had been so used to walk home with Harold Gwyn that any other companionship along the old familiar road seemed unnatural. As she passed along, from every bush, every tree, every winding of the lane seemed to start some ghost-like memory, until there came over her a far.

Starting point is 09:08:07 feeling almost of fear, to find how full her thoughts were of this one friend, how to pass from his presence was like passing into gloom, and the sense of his absence seemed a heavy void. "'It was not so while my mother lived,' Olive murmured sorrowfully. "'I never needed any friend but her. What am I doing? What is coming over me?' She trembled and dared not answer the question.

Starting point is 09:08:31 "'At the dell they parted from Lyle. "'I shall see you once again before you leave, I hope,' he said to Crystal. Oh, yes, you will not get rid of your tormentor so easily. Get rid of you, fair cruelty. Would a man wish to put out the sun because it scorches him sometimes? cried Lyle, lifted to the seventh heaven of poetic fervor by the influence of a balmy night and a glorious harvest moon. Which said luminary, shining on Crystal's face, saw there, she only, pale Lady Moon, an expression fine and rare, quivering lips, eyes not merely bright but flaming as such dark eyes only can. As Olive was entering the hall door, Miss Manners, a little in the rear, fell, crying out as with

Starting point is 09:09:15 pain. She was quickly assisted into the house, where, recovering, she complained of having sprained her ankle. Olive, full of compassion, laid her on the sofa and hurried away for some simple medicaments, leaving Crystal alone. That young lady, as soon as she heard Miss Rothsay's steps overhead, bounded to the half-open window, moving quite as easily on the injured foot as on the other. Eagerly she listened, and soon was rewarded by hearing Lyle's voice caroling pathetically down the road, the ditty, "'Yotivoli o ben-asai, matu non-pensia me.' "'Tis my song, mine, I taught him,' said Crystal, laughing to herself.

Starting point is 09:09:55 He thought to stay behind and escape me and my cruelty, but we shall see, we shall see. Though in her air was a triumphant, girlish coquetry, yet something there was of a woman's passion, too, but she heard a descending step, and had only just time to regain her invalid attitude and her doleful countenance when Olive entered. "'This accident is most unfortunate,' said Miss Rothsay. "'How will you manage your journey to-morrow?' "'I shall not be able to go,' said Crue. Crystal in a piteous voice, though over her averted face broke a comical smile.

Starting point is 09:10:30 "'Are you really so much hurt, my dear?' "'Do you doubt it?' was the sharp reply. "'I am sorry to trouble you, but I really am unable to leave the dell.' Very often did she try Olive's patience thus, but the faithful daughter always remembered those last words, take care of Crystal. So, excusing all, she tended the young sufferer carefully until midnight, and then went downstairs secretly to perform a little act of self-denial by giving up an engagement she had made for the morrow. While writing to renounce it, she felt, with a renewed sense of vague apprehension,

Starting point is 09:11:05 how keen a pleasure it was she thus resigned. A whole long day in the forest with her pet Isley, Ely's grandmamma, and Harold Gwynn. End of Chapter 33 of Chapter 34 of Olive. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dinah Maria Crake, Chapter 34. Midnight was long past, and yet Olive sat at her desk. She had finished her note to Mrs. Gwynn, and was pouring over a small packet of letters, carefully separated from the remainder of her correspondence. If she had been asked the reason of this, perhaps she would have made answer that they were unlike the rest, solemn in character and secret with all. She never looked at them, but her expression changed. When she touched them,

Starting point is 09:11:59 she did it softly and tremulously, as one would touch a living, sacred thing. They were letters which at intervals during his various absences she had received from Harold Gwynn. Often had she read them over, so often that, many a time waking in the night, whole sentences came distinctly on her memory, vivid almost as a spoken voice, and yet scarcely a day passed that she did not read them over again. Perhaps this was from their tenor, for they were letters such as a man rarely writes to a woman, or even a friend to a friend. Let us judge, extracting portions from them at will. The first, dated months back, began thus. You will perhaps marvel, my dear Miss Roth say, that I should write to you, when for some time we have met so rarely, and then apparently

Starting point is 09:12:48 like ordinary acquaintance. Yet who should have a better right than we to call each other friends. And like a friend you acted, when you consented that there should be between us for a time this total silence on the subject which first bound us together by a tie which we can neither of us break if we would. Alas, sometimes I could almost curse the weakness which had given you a woman to hold my secret in your hands. And yet so gently, so nobly have you held it that I could kneel and bless you. You see I can write earnestly, though I speak so coldly. i told you after that day when we two were alone with death the words are harsh i know but i have no smooth tongue i told you that i desired entire silence for weeks perhaps months i must commune with my own heart and be still i must wrestle with this darkness alone you assented you forced on me no long argumentative homilies you preached to me solely with your life the pure beautiful life of a christian woman

Starting point is 09:13:51 sometimes i tried to read carefully the morality of jesus which i and sceptics worse than i must allow to be perfect of its kind and it struck me how nearly you approached to that divine life which i had thought impossible to be realized i have advanced thus far into my solemn seeking i have learned to see the revelation imputedly divine clear and distinct from the mass of modern creeds with which it has been overladen i have begun to read the book on which as you truly say, every form of religion is founded. I try to read with my own eyes, putting aside all received interpretations, earnestly desiring to cast from my soul all long-gathered prejudices, and to bring it, naked and clear, to meet the souls of those who are said to have written by divine inspiration. The book is a marvelous book. The history of all ages can scarcely show its parallel. What diversity, yet what unity. The stream seems, seems to flow through all ages, catching the lights and shadows of different periods and of various

Starting point is 09:14:57 human minds. Yet it is one in the same stream, pure and shining as truth. Is it truth? Is it divine? I will confess candidly that if the scheme of a world's history with reference to its creator, as set forth in the Bible, were true, it would be a scheme in many things worthy of a divine benevolence, such as that in which you believe. But can I imagine infinity setting itself to work out such trivialities? What is even a world? A mere grain of dust in endless space? It cannot be. A God who could take interest in man, in such an atom as I, would be no God at all. What avails me to have risen unto more knowledge, more clearness in the sense of the divine, if it is to plunge me into such an abyss as this. Would I had never been awakened?

Starting point is 09:15:47 from my sleep, the dull stupor of materialism into which I was fast sinking. Then I might, in the end, have conquered even the last fear, that of something after death, and have perished like a soulless clod, satisfied that there was no hereafter. Now, if there should be, I whirl and whirl, I can find no rest. I would know for certain that I was mad, but it is not so. You answer my kind friend, like a woman, like the sort of. sort of woman I believed in in my boyhood, when I longed for a sister, such a sister as you. It is very strange, even to myself, that I should write to anyone as freely as I do to you.

Starting point is 09:16:29 I know that I could never speak thus. Therefore, when I return home, you must not marvel to find me just the same reserved being as ever, less to you, perhaps, than to most people, but still reserved. Yet never believe but that I thank you for all your goodness most deeply. Say that, like most women, you have little power of keen philosophical argument. Perhaps not, but there is in you a spiritual sense that may even transcend knowledge. I once heard, was it not you who said so, that the poet who reads God's secrets in the stars soars nearer him than the astronomer who calculates by figures and by line? As, even in the material universe, there are planets and systems which mock all human can,

Starting point is 09:17:14 so in the immaterial world there must be a boundary where all human reasoning fails, and we can trust to nothing but that inward inexplicable sense which we call faith. This seems to me the great argument which inclines us to receive that supernatural manifestation of the all-pervading spirit which is termed revelation. And there we go back again to the relation between the finite, humanity, and the infinite deity. One of my speculations you answer by an allegory, Does not the sun make instinct with life not only man, But the meanest insect, the lowest form of vegetable existence?

Starting point is 09:17:52 He shines, his light at once revivifies a blade of grass and illumines a world. If thus it is with the created, may it not be also with the creator. There is something within me that answers to this reasoning. If I have power to conceive the existence of God, to look up from my nothingness unto his great height, to desire nearer insight into his being, there must be in my soul something not unworthy of him, something that, partaking his divinity,

Starting point is 09:18:22 instinctively turns to the source whence it was derived. Shall I, suffering myself to be guided by this power, seek less to doubt than to believe? I remember my first mathematical tutor once said to me, if you would know anything, begin by doubting everything. I did begin, but I have never yet found an end. I will take your advice, my dear friend, advice given so humbly, so womanly.

Starting point is 09:18:48 Yet I think you deal with me wisely. I am a man who never could be preached or argued into belief. I must find out the truth for myself. And so, according to your counsel, I will again carefully study the Bible, and especially the life of Jesus of Nazareth, which you believe the clearest revelation which God has allowed of himself to earth.

Starting point is 09:19:09 finding any contradictions or obscurities i will remember as you say that scripture was not and does not pretend to be written visibly and actually by the finger of god but by his inspiration conveyed through many human minds and of course always bearing to a certain extent the impress of the mind through which it passes therefore while the letter is sometimes apparently contradictory the spirit is invariably one and the same i am to look to that first Above all I am to look to the only earthly manifestation of divine perfection. Jesus Christ, the Savior of all men, I will. You see how my mind echoes your words, my friend. I am becoming, I think, more like you. All human affections are growing closer and dearer unto me. I can look at my good and pious mother without feeling, as I did at times,

Starting point is 09:20:02 that she is either a self-deceiver or deceived. I do not now shrink from my little daughter, nor think that, with horror that she owes to me that being, which may lead her one day to curse God and die. Still I cannot rest at Harbury. All things there torture me. As for resuming my duties as a minister, that seems all but impossible. What an accursed hypocrite I have been. If this search after truth should end in a belief anything like that of the Church of England, I shall marvel that heaven's lightning has not struck me dead. You speak hopefully of the time when we shall hold one faith, and both give thanks unto the merciful God who has lightened my darkness. I cannot say this

Starting point is 09:20:44 yet, but the time may come. And if it does, what shall I owe to you, who by your outward life first revived my faith in humanity, by your inward life, my faith in God? You have solved to me many of those enigmas of providence, which in my blindness I thought impugned eternal justice. Now I see that love, human and divine, is sufficient to itself, and that he who loves God is one with God. There may be a hundred varying forms of doctrine, but this one truth is above all and the root of all. I hold to it, and I believe it will save my soul.

Starting point is 09:21:21 If ever I lift up a prayer worthy to reach the ear of God, it is that he may bless you, my friend and comforter. And here, reader, for a moment we pause. following whither our object led, we have gone far beyond the bounds usually prescribed to a book like this. After perusing the present chapter, you may turn to the title page, and reading thereon, Olive, a novel, may exclaim, most incongruous, most strange. Nay, some may even accuse us of irreverence in thus bringing into a fictitious story, those subjects which are acknowledged as most vital to every human soul, but yet which most people are content,

Starting point is 09:22:02 save it set times and places, tacitly to ignore. There are those who sincerely believe that in such works as this it is profanity even to name the holy name. Yet what is a novel, or rather what is it that a novel ought to be, the attempt of one earnest mind to show unto many what humanity is, I and more what humanity might become, to depict what is true in essence through imaginary forms, to teach, counsel, and warn, by means of the silent,

Starting point is 09:22:32 transcript of human life. Human life without God, who will dare to tell us we should paint that? Authors who feel the solemnity of their calling cannot suppress the truth that is within them. Having put their hands to the plow, they may not turn aside nor look either to the right or the left. They must go straight on as the inward voice impels, and he who seeth their hearts will guide them aright. End of Chapter 34. Olive. This Liprovoc's recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dinah Maria Crake Chapter 35

Starting point is 09:23:14 Some days passed in quiet uniformity, broken only by the visits of good-natured Lyle, who came, as he said, to amuse the invalid. Whether that were the truth or no, he was a frequent and always welcome guest at the Dell. Only he made the proviso that in all amusements which he and Crystal shared, Miss Rothsay should be in some way united. so morning after morning the sofa whereupon the invalid gracefully reclined was brought into the painting-room and there while olive worked she listened sometimes almost in envy to the gay young voices that mingled in song or contended in the light battle of wits how much older, graver, and sadder she seemed than they. Harold Gwyn did not come. This circumstance troubled Olive,

Starting point is 09:24:02 not that he was in the habit of paying long morning visits like young Derwent, but still when he was at Harbury, it usually chanced that every few days they met somewhere. So habitual had this intercourse become that a week's complete cessation of it seemed a positive pain. Ever when Olive rose in the morning, the sun-gilded spire of Harbury Church brought the thought, I wonder will he come to-day.

Starting point is 09:24:25 And at night, when he did not come, she could not conceal from herself that looking back on the past day, over all its duties and pleasures, though rose a pale mist, she seemed to have only half-lived. Alas! Alas! Olive knew, though she hardly would acknowledge it to herself,

Starting point is 09:24:43 that for many months this interest in Harold Gwynn had been the one great interest of her existence. At first it came in the form of a duty, and as such she had entered upon it. She was one of those women who seemed born ever to devote themselves to someone. When her mother died, it had comforted Olive to think there was still a human being who stretched out to her in treating hands, saying, I need thee, I need thee. Nay, it even seemed as if the voice of the saint departed called upon her to perform this sacred

Starting point is 09:25:13 task. There too tended her thoughts and prayers. And thus there came upon her the fate which has come upon many another woman. while thus devoting herself she learned to love. But so gradual had been the change that she knew it not. Why am I restless, she thought. One is too exacting in friendship. One should give all and ask nothing back.

Starting point is 09:25:36 Still it is not quite kind of him to stay away thus. But a man is not like a woman. He must have so many conflicting and engrossing interests, whilst I— Here her thought broke and dissolved like a rock-riven wave. She dared not yet confess that she had no interest in the world, save what was linked with him. If he comes not so often, she recommenced her musings, even then I ought to be quite content. I know he respects and esteems me, nay, that he has for me a warm regard. I have done him good too, he tells me so. How fervently ought I to thank God if any feeble words of mine may so

Starting point is 09:26:14 influence him, as in time to lead him from error to truth. My friend, my dear friend, my dear friend. I could not die, knowing or fearing that the abyss of eternity would lie between my spirit and his. Now, whatever may part us during life! Here again she paused, overcome with the consciousness of great pain. If there was gloom in the silence of a week, what would a whole life's silence be? Something whispered that even in this world it would be very bitter to part with Harold Gwynne. "'You are not painting, Miss Rothsay. You are thinking,' suddenly cried Lyle Derwent. olive started almost with a sense of shame has not an artist a right to dream a little she said yet she blushed deeply were her thoughts wrong that they needed to be thus glossed over

Starting point is 09:27:01 was there stealing into her heart a secret that taught her to feign. "'What, are you always the idlest of the idol, "'reproving Miss Rothze for being idle, too?' said Crystal somewhat sharply. "'No wonder she is dull, and I, likewise, "'you are getting as solemn as Mr. Gwynn himself. "'I almost wish he would come in your place.' "'Do you? "'Then reap the misery of a granted prayer, for there is a knock,

Starting point is 09:27:26 "'it may be my worthy brother-in-law himself. "'If so, for charity's sake, "'Give me your arm and help me into the next room. "'I cannot abide his gloomy face.' "'Oh, woman, changeful, fickle, vain,' laughed the young man, "'as he performed the duty of supporting the not very fragile form of the fair crystal. "'Aulve was left alone. Why did she tremble? "'Why did her pulse sink slower and slower?

Starting point is 09:27:53 "'She asked herself this question, even in self-dustain, "'but there was no answer.' Harold entered. "'I am come with a message from my mother,' said he, but added anxiously, "'How is this, Miss Rothsay? You look as if you had been ill. Oh, no, only weary with a long morning's work.

Starting point is 09:28:12 But will you sit?' He received, as usual, the quiet smile, the greeting gentle and friendly. He was deceived by them as heretofore. "'Are you better than when last I was at the parsonage? I have seen nothing of you for a week, you know.' "'Is it so long? I did not note the time.

Starting point is 09:28:30 He did not note the time, and she had told every day by hours, every hour by minutes. I should have come before, he continued, but I have had so many things to occupy me. Besides, I am such poor company. I should only trouble you. You never trouble me. It is kind of you to say so. Well, let that pass. Will you now return with me and spend the day? My mother is longing to see you.

Starting point is 09:28:55 I will come, said Olive cheerfully. There was a little demur about Crystal being left alone, but it was soon terminated by the incursion of a tribe of the young lady's friends, whom she had made at Farnwood Hall. Soon Olive was walking with Mr. Gwynn along the well-known road. The sunshine of the morning seemed to gather and float around her. She remembered no more the pain, the doubt, the weary waiting. She was satisfied now. Gradually they fell into their old way of conversing.

Starting point is 09:29:25 "'How beautiful all seems,' said Harold, as he stood. good still, bared his head, and drank in, with a long sighing breath, the sunshine and the soft air. Would that I could be happy in this happy world! It is God's world, and as he made it, good, but I often doubt whether he meant it to be altogether happy. Why so? Because life is our time of education, our school days.

Starting point is 09:29:51 Our holidays I fancy are to come. We should be thankful, she added, smiling, when we get our brief play-outers. hours, our pleasant Saturday afternoons as now. Do you not think so? I cannot tell. I am in a great labyrinth from which I must work my way out alone. Nevertheless, my friend, keep near me. Unconsciously she pressed his arm. He started and turned his head away. The next moment he added in a somewhat constrained voice. I mean, let me have your friendship, your silent comforting, your prayers. Yes, thus far I believe. I can say, pray God. God for me, doubting not that he will hear—you, at least, if not me. Therefore let me go

Starting point is 09:30:34 on and struggle through this darkness." "'Until comes the light! It will come. I know it will.' Olive looked up at him, and their eyes met. In hers was the fullness of joy, in his a doubt, a contest. He removed them and walked on in silence. The very arm on which Olive leaned seemed to grow rigid, like a bar of severance between them. "'I would to heaven,' Harold suddenly exclaimed as they approached Harbary. "'I would to heaven I could get away from this place altogether. "'I think I shall do so.

Starting point is 09:31:08 "'My knowledge and reputation in science is not small. "'I might begin a new life, a life of active exertion. "'In fact, I have nearly decided at all.' "'Decided what? "'It is so sudden, I do not quite understand,' said Olive, faintly. "'To leave England forever. "'What do you think of the plan?' "'What thought she? Nothing. There was a dull sound in her ears as of a myriad waters. The ground

Starting point is 09:31:35 whereon she stood seemed reeling to and fro, yet she did not fall. One minute, and she answered, "'You know best. If good for you, it is a good plan.' He seemed relieved and yet disappointed. "'I am glad you say so. I imagined perhaps you might have thought it wrong. Why wrong? Women have peculiar feelings about home and country and friends. I shall leave all these. I would not care ever to see England more. I would put off this black gown, and with it every remembrance of the life of vile hypocrisy which I have led here.

Starting point is 09:32:10 I would drown the past in new plans, new energies, new hopes. And to do this I must break all ties and go alone. My poor mother, I have not dared yet to tell her. To her the thought of parting would be like death. so dearly does she love me. He spoke all this rapidly, never looking towards his silent companion. When he ceased, Olive feebly stretched out her hand, as if to grasp something for support, then drew it back again and hid under her mantle, pressed it tightly against her heart. On that heart Harold's words fell, tearing away all its disguises, laying it bare to the bitter

Starting point is 09:32:47 truth. To me, she thought, to me also this parting is like death, and why? "'because I too love him, dearer than ever mother-loved son or sister-brother. "'I dearer than my own soul. Oh, miserable me!' "'You are silent,' said Harold. "'You think I am acting cruelly towards one who loves me so well. "'Human affections are to us secondary things. "'We scarcely need them, or when our will demands we can crush them altogether.' "'I—I have heard so,' said she, slowly.

Starting point is 09:33:22 "'Well, Miss Rothsay,' he asked, when they had nearly reached the parsonage, "'what are you thinking of?' "'I think that wherever you go you ought to take your mother with you, "'and little Ely, too. With them your home will be complete. "'Yet I have friends to leave, one friend at least, yourself. "'I, like others, shall miss you, "'but all true friends should desire, above all things, each other's welfare. "'I shall be satisfied if I hear at times of yours.'

Starting point is 09:33:50 He made no reply, and they went in at the hall door. There was much to be done and talked of that afternoon at the parsonage. First there was a long lesson to be given to little Isley. Then at least an hour was spent in following Mrs. Gwynn round the garden, and hearing her dilate on the beauty of her hollyhocks and dahlias. "'I shall have the finest dahlias in the country next year,' said the delighted old lady. "'Next year. It seemed to all of as if she were talking of the next world.' In some way or other the hours went by, how, Olive could not tell. She did not see, hear,

Starting point is 09:34:25 or feel anything, save that she had to make an effort to appear in the eyes of Harold and of Harold's mother, just as usual, the same quiet little creature, gently smiling, gently speaking, who had already begun to be called an old maid, whom no one in the world suspected of any human passion, least of all the passion of love. After this early dinner, Harold went out. He did not return even when the misty autumn night had begun to fall. As the daylight waned and the firelight brightened, Olive felt terrified at herself. One hour of that quiet evening commune, so sweet of old, and her strength and self-control

Starting point is 09:35:03 would have failed. Making some excuse about Crystal, she asked Mrs. Gwynne to let her go home. "'But not alone, my dear. You will surely wait until Harold comes in.' "'No, no, it will be late and the mist is rising. Do not fear for me. The road is quite safe, and you know I am used to walking alone,' said Olive, feebly smiling. "'You are a brave little creature, my dear. Well, do as you will.' So ere long, Olive found herself on her solitary homeward road. It lay through the churchyard.

Starting point is 09:35:34 Closing the parsonage gate, the first thing she did was to creep across the long grass to her mother's grave. "'Oh, mother! Mother! Why did you go in the house?' leave me. I should never have loved anyone if my mother had not died." And burning tears fell, and burning blushes came. With these came also the horrible sense of self-degradation, which smites a woman when she knows that, unsought, she has dared to love. "'What have I done?' she cried. "'Oh, earth, take me in and cover me. Hide me from myself, from my misery, my shame.' Suddenly she started up. "'What if he should pass and find me here? I must go.' I must go home.

Starting point is 09:36:15 She fled out of the churchyard and down the road. For a little way she walked rapidly, then gradually slower and slower. A white mist arose from the meadows. It folded round her like a shroud. It seemed to creep even into her heart and make its beatings grow still. Down the long road, where she and Harold had so often passed together, she walked alone. Alone, as once had seemed her doom through life,

Starting point is 09:36:41 and must now be so into the end. It might be the certainty of this which calmed her. She had no maiden doubts or hopes, not one. The possibility of Harold's loving her, or choosing her as his wife, never entered her mind. Since the days of her early girlhood, when she wove such a bright romance around Sarah and Charles, and created for herself a beautiful ideal for future worship, Olive had ceased to dream about love at all. Feeling that its happiness was forever denied her, she had altogether relinquency.

Starting point is 09:37:13 those fancies in which young maidens indulge. In their place had come the intense devotion to her art, which, together with her passionate love for her mother, had absorbed all the interests of her secluded life. Scarcely was she even conscious of the happiness that she lost, for she had read few of those books which foster sentiment, and in the wooings and weddings she heard of were none that aroused either her sympathy or her envy. Coldly and purely she had moved in her sphere, superior to both love's judgment. joy and love's pain. Reaching home, Olive sought not to enter the house where she knew there could be no solitude.

Starting point is 09:37:51 She went into the little arbor, her mother's favorite spot, and there, hidden in the shadows of the mild autumn night, she sat down, to gather up her strength and calmly to think over her mournful lot. She said to herself, "'There has come upon me that which I have heard is, soon or late, every woman's destiny. I cannot beguile myself any longer. It is not friendship, I feel. It is love.

Starting point is 09:38:16 My whole life is threaded by one thought, the thought of him. It comes between me and everything else on earth, almost between me and heaven. I never wake at morning but his name rises to my heart, the first hope of the day. I never kneel down at night, but in my prayer, whether in thought or speech that name is mingled too. If I have sinned, God forgive me. He knows how lonely and deyed. desolate I was. How, when that one best love was taken away, my heart ached and yearned for some other human love, and this has come to fill it, alas for me! Let me think, will it ever

Starting point is 09:38:54 pass away? There are feelings which come and go, light, girlish fancies, but I am six and twenty years old. All this while I have lived without loving any man, and no one has ever wooed me except my master Vanbrough, whose feeling for me was not love at all. No, no, I am as they call me an old maid, destined to pass through life alone and unloved. Perhaps, though I have long ceased to think on the subject, perhaps my first girlish misery was true, and there is in me something repulsive, something that would prevent any man seeking me as a wife. Therefore, even if my own feelings could change. It is unlikely there will ever come any soothing after-tie to take away the memory of this utterly hopeless love. Hopeless, I know it is. He admires beauty and grace.

Starting point is 09:39:44 I have neither. Yet I will not do him the injustice to believe he would despise me for this. Even once I overheard him say there was such sweetness in my face that he had never noticed my being slightly deformed. Therefore did he but love me, perhaps—oh, fool! Dreaming fool that I am, it is impossible. Let me think calmly once more. He has given me all he could, kindness, friendship, brotherly regard, and I have given him love, a woman's whole and entire love, such as she can give but once and be beggared all her life after. I to him am like any other friend. He to me is all my world. Oh, but it is a fearful difference. I will look my doom in the face. I will consider how I am to bear it. No hope is there for me of being loved as I love.

Starting point is 09:40:35 I shall never be his wife, never be more to him than I am now, in time, perhaps even less. He will go out into the world and leave me, as brothers leave sisters, even supposing he regards me as such. He will form new ties. Perhaps he will marry, and then my love for him would be sin. Olive pressed her hands tightly together, and crushed her hot brow upon them. bending it even to her knees. Thus bowed, she laid until the fierce struggle passed. I do not think that misery will come. His mother, who knows him best,

Starting point is 09:41:10 was surely right when she said he would never take a second wife. Therefore I may be his friend still. Neither he nor anyone will ever know that I loved him otherwise than as a sister might love a brother. Who would dream there could be any other thought in me? A pale, unlovely thing. A woman passed her youth, for I seem very old. now. It ought not to be so. Many women are counted young at six-and-twenty, but it is those who

Starting point is 09:41:35 have been nurtured tenderly in joyous homes, while I have been struggling with the hard world these many years. No wonder I am not as they, that I am quiet and silent, without mirth or winning grace, a creature worn out before her time, pale, joyless, deformed. Yes, let me teach myself that word, with all other truths that can quench this mad dream. Then, perhaps knowing all hope vain I may be able to endure. What am I to do? Am I to try and cleanse my heart of this love as if it were some pollution? Not so.

Starting point is 09:42:10 Sorrow it is. Deep abiding sorrow, but it is not sin. If I thought it so I would crush it out, though I crushed my life out with it. But I need not. My heart is pure. Oh, God, thou knowest! Another comfort I have. He has not deceived me, as men'stieft.

Starting point is 09:42:28 sometimes deceive, with wooing that seems like love, and yet his only idle, cruel sport. He has ever treated me as a friend, a sister, nothing more. Therefore no bitterness is there in my sorrow since he has done no wrong. I will not cease from loving. I would not if I could. Better this suffering than the utter void which must otherwise be in my heart eternally, seeing I have neither father, mother, brother, nor sister, and she'll never know any nearer tie than the chance friendships which spring up on the world's wayside and wither where they spring.

Starting point is 09:43:03 I know there are those who would bid me cast off this love as if it were a serpent from my bosom. No, rather let it creep in there and fold itself close in secret. What matter, even if its sweet sting be death? But I shall not die. How could I while he lived, and might need any comfort that I could give? Did he not say keep near me? Aye, I will. Though a world lay between us, my spirit shall follow him all his life long.

Starting point is 09:43:32 Distance shall be nothing, years nothing. Whenever he calls, friend, I need thee, I will answer, I am here. If I could condense my whole life's current of joy into one drop of peace for him, I would pour it out at his feet, smile content and die. And when I am dead, he will know how I loved him. Herald! My Herald! Such were her thoughts, though no words passed her lips except the last.

Starting point is 09:44:00 As she rose and went towards the house, she might even have met him and not trembled. She had grown so calm. It was already night, but the mist had quite gone. There was only the sky and its stars. End of Chapter 36 of Olive. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dinah Maria Crake Chapter 36

Starting point is 09:44:33 I know that I am promulgating a new theory of love I know that in Olive Roth say I dare to paint a woman full of all maidenly virtues who has yet given her heart away unrequited given it to a man who knows not of the treasure he has never sought to win the case I grant is rare I believe that a woman seldom bestows her love

Starting point is 09:44:55 save in return for other love be it silent or spoken, real or imaginary. If it is not so, either she has deceived herself or has been deceived. But the thing is quite possible, aye, and happens sometimes, that a woman unselfish, unexacting in all her affections, more prone to give than to receive, thinking perhaps very little of love or marriage, may be unconsciously attracted by some imagined perfection in the other sex, and be thus led on through the worship of abstract goodness, until she wakes to find that she has learned to love the man. For what is love in its purest and divinest sense, but that innate yearning after perfection which we vainly hope to find in some other human soul, this is

Starting point is 09:45:40 as likely to be felt by a woman as by a man, I, and by one most pure from every thought of unfeminine boldness, vanity, or sin. I know, too, that from many a sage and worthy matron, My Olive has forever earned her condemnation, because at last discovering her mournful secret, she did not strive in horror and shame to root out this misplaced attachment. Then, after years of self-martyrdom, she might at last have pointed to her heart's trampled garden and said, Look what I have had strength to do. But from such erect and blasted soil what aftergrowth could ever spring? Better a thousand times that a woman to whom this doom has come unwittingly, without her seeking,

Starting point is 09:46:22 as inevitably and inexorably as fate, should pause, stand steadfast, and look it in the face without fear. She cannot disguise it, or wrestle with it, or fly from it. Let her meet it as she would meet death, solemnly, patiently. Let her draw nigh and look upon the beer of her life's dead hope, until the pale image grows beautiful as sleep, then cover it, bury it if she can. Perhaps it may one day rise from the grave, wearing a likeness no longer human but divest. vine. It is time that we women should begin to teach and to think thus. It is meet that we, maidens, wives, mothers, to whom the lines have fallen in more pleasant places, should turn and look on that pale sisterhood, some carrying meekly to the grave their heavy unuttered secret,

Starting point is 09:47:09 some living unto old age, to bear the world's smile of pity even of derision over an unfortunate attachment. Others, perhaps, furnishing a text whereupon prudent mothers may lessen romantic daughters, saying, See that you be not like these foolish virgins, Give not your heart away in requital of fancied love, Or matter still in worship of ideal goodness. Give it for nothing but the safe barter of a speedy settlement, A comfortable income, a husband, and a ring. Olive Roth say be not ashamed nor afraid.

Starting point is 09:47:42 Hide the arrow close in thy soul, Lay over it thy folded hands and look upwards. Far purer art thou than many a young creature, married without love, living on in decent dignity as the mother of her husband's children, the convenient mistress of his household, and so sinking down into the grave, a pattern of all matronly virtue. Envy her not. A thousand times holier and happier than such a destiny as that silent lot of thine. With meekness, yet with courage, Oliver Rothsay prepared to live her appointed life. At first it seemed very bitter as must needs be. Youth, while it is still,

Starting point is 09:48:20 still youth, cannot at once and altogether be content to resign love. It will yearn for that tie which heaven ordained to make its nature's completeness. It will shrink before the long, dull vista of a solitary, aimless existence. Sometimes, wildly as she struggled against such thoughts, there would come to Olive's fancy dreams of what her life might have been. The holiness of lover's love, of wedded love, of mother love, would at times flit before her imagination, and her heart, still warm, still young, trembled to picture the lonely old age, the hearth blank and silent, the utter isolation from all those natural ties whose place not even the dearest bonds of adopted affection can ever entirely fill. But whenever these murmurings

Starting point is 09:49:06 arose, Olive checked them, often with a feeling of intolerable shame. She devoted herself more than ever to her art, trying to make it as once before the chief interest and enjoyment of her life. It would become the same again, she hoped. Often and often in the world's history has been noted that of brave men who rose from the wreck of love and found happiness and fame. But Olive had yet to learn that with women it is rarely so. She felt more than ever the mournful change which had come over her, when it happened that great success was won by one of her later pictures, A picture unconsciously created from the inspiration of that sweet love dream. When the news came, tidings which a year ago would have thrilled her with pleasure,

Starting point is 09:49:49 Olive only smiled faintly, and a few minutes after went into her chamber, locked the door, and wept. There was not and there could not be any difference made in her ordinary way of life. She still went to the parsonage and walked and talked with Harold, as he seemed always to expect. She listened to all his projects for the future. A future wherein she, alas, had no part. Eagerly she strove to impress this fact upon her mind, To forget herself entirely,

Starting point is 09:50:17 To think only of him and what would be best for his happiness. Knowing him so well, And having over him an influence which he seemed to rather like, And which, at least he never repelled, She was able continually to reason, To cheer him, and sympathize with him. He often thanked her for this, Little knowing how every quiet word of hers was torn from a bleeding heart.

Starting point is 09:50:39 walking home with her at nights as usual he never saw the white face turned upwards to the stars the eyes wherein tears burned but would not fall the lips compressed in a choking agony or opened to utter ordinary words in which his ear detected not one tremulous or discordant tone when he sat in the house absorbed in anxious thought little he knew what looks were secretly fastened on his face to learn by heart every beloved lineament against the time when his visible likeness would be beheld no more. Thus miserably did Olive's struggle. The record of that time, it's every day, it's every hour, was seared on her heart as with a burning brand. Afterwards she never thought of it

Starting point is 09:51:22 but with a shudder, marveling how she had been able to endure all and live. At last the inward suffering began to be outwardly written on her face. Some people said, Lyle Derwent first, that Miss Rothsay did not look so well as she used to do. But indeed it was no wonder,

Starting point is 09:51:39 She was so engrossed in her painting, and worked far too much for her strength. Olive neither dissented nor denied, but she never complained, and still went painting on. Harold himself saw she was ill, and sometimes treated her with almost brotherly tenderness. Often he noticed her pale face, paler than ever beneath his eye, or, in wrapping her from the cold, observed how she shivered and trembled. And then Olive would go home and cry out in her misery. "'How long! How long! Oh, that this would cease or else I'd die!' She was quite alone at the dell now, for Mrs. Fledger had paid a flying visit home,

Starting point is 09:52:17 and had taken back with her both Crystal and the somewhat unwilling Lyle. Solitude, once sweet and profitable, now grew fearful unto Olive's tortured mind. And to escape it she had no resource, but that which she knew was to her like a poison draft, and for which she yet thirsted evermore, the daily welcome at the parsonage. but the web of circumstances which she herself seemed to have no power to break was at length apparently broken for her one day she received a letter from her father's aunt miss flora rothsay inviting nay entreating her to visit edinburgh that the old lady might look upon the last of her race For a moment Olive blessed this chance of quitting the scenes now become so painful. But then Harold might need her. In his present conflict of feeling and of purpose he had no confidant save herself.

Starting point is 09:53:07 She would have braved years of suffering if her presence could have given him one hour's relief from care. But of this she must judge, so she set off at once to the parsonage. "'Well, my dear,' said Mrs. Gwynne, with a smiling and mysterious face, "'of course you will go at once. It will do your health a world of good." Harold said so only this morning. Then he knew of the letter. Why, to tell the truth, I believe he originated the plan.

Starting point is 09:53:33 He saw you wanted change. He has such a regard for you, Olive. Then he had done it all. He could let her part from him easily, as friend from friend. Yet what marvel they were nothing more! She answered quietly. I will go. She told him so when he came in.

Starting point is 09:53:50 He seemed much pleased, and said with more than his, his usual frankness. I should like you to know, Aunt Flora. You see, I call her my Aunt Flora, too, for she is of some distant kin, and I have dearly loved her ever since I was a boy. It was something to be going to one whom Harold dearly loved. Olive felt a little comfort in her proposed journey. Besides, she knows you quite well already, my dear, observed Mrs. Gwyn. She tells me Harold used often to talk about you during his visit with her this summer. "'I had a reason,' said Harold. His dark cheek. changing a little. I wished her to know and love her niece, and I was sure her niece would soon learn

Starting point is 09:54:28 to love her. Why, that is kind, and like yourself, my son, how thoughtfully you have been planning everything for Olive. Olive will not be angry with me for that, he said, and stopped. It was the first time she had ever heard him utter her Christian name. At the sound her heart leaped wildly, but only for an instant. The next Harold had corrected himself and said, Miss Rothsay, in a distinct, cold and formal tone. Very soon afterwards he went away. Mrs. Gwynn persuaded Olive to spend the day at the parsonage. They two were alone together, for Harold did not return. But in the afternoon their quietness was broken by the sudden appearance of Lyle Durwint. So soon back from Brighton, who would have thought it, said Mrs. Gwynn, smiling. Lyle put on his favourite sense.

Starting point is 09:55:16 sentimental air and muttered something about not liking gaiety and never being happy away from Farnwood. Miss Rothsay is scarcely of your opinion. At all events she is going to try the experiment by leaving us for a while. Miss Rothsay leaving us? It is indeed true, Lyle. You see I have not been well of late, and my kind friends here are over-anxious for me, and I want to see my aunt in Scotland. It is to Scotland you are going. All that long, dreary way? You may stay they're weeks, months, and that while what will become of me, I mean of us all at Farnwood. His evident regret touched Olive deeply. It was something to be missed, even by this boy. He always seemed a boy to her, partly because of olden times, partly because he was so boylike and

Starting point is 09:56:04 unsophisticated in mind and manner. My dear Lyle, how good of you to think of me in this manner, but indeed I will not forget you when I am away. You promise that, cried Lyle eagerly. "'Auliffe promised, with a sorrowful thought that none asked this pledge, "'one needed it, save the affectionate Lyle. "'He was still inconsolable poor youth. "'He looked so drearily pathetic and quoted such doleful poetry "'that Mrs. Gwynn, who, in her matter-of-fact plainness, "'had no patience with any of Lyle's romantic vagaries, as she called them,

Starting point is 09:56:38 "'began to exert the dormant humor by which she always quenched his little ebullitions. Olive at last considerably came to the rescue, and proposed an evening stroll about the garden, to which Lyle gladly assented. There he still talked of her departure, but his affectations were now broken by real feeling. I shall miss you bitterly, he said, in a low tone, but if your health needs change and this journey is for your good, of course I would not think of myself at all. The very expressions she had herself used to Harold. This coincidence touched her, and she had half-reproached herself for feeling so coldly to all her kind friends, and chiefly to Lyle Derwent, who evidently regarded her with much affection, but all other affections grew pale before the one

Starting point is 09:57:23 great love. Every lesser tie that would fain come in the place of that which was unattainable smote her with only a keener pain. Still, half remorsefully, she looked on her old favorite, and wished that she could care for him more. So thinking her manner became gentler than usual, while that of Lyle grew more earnest and less dreamy. "'I wish you would write to me while you are away, Miss Rothsay, "'or at all events let me write to you. "'That you may, and I shall be so glad to hear all about Harbury and Farnwood.' "'Here she paused, half-shaming to confess to herself

Starting point is 09:57:58 "'that for this reason chiefly would she welcome the letters of poor Lyle. "'Is that all? Will you not care to hear about me?' "'Oh, Miss Rothsay,' cried Lyle, "'I often wish I was again a little boy in the dear old garden at Old Church. Why so? Because, because, because, and the quick blood rose in his cheek. No, no, I cannot tell you now, but perhaps I may sometime.

Starting point is 09:58:23 Just as you like, answered Olive absently, her thoughts, wakened by the long silent name, were traveling over many years, back to her old home, her happy girlhood. She almost wished she had died then while she was young, but her mother. "'No, I am glad I lived to comfort her,' she mused. "'Perhaps it may be true that none ever leave earth until they are no longer needed there, "'so I will even patiently live on.' "'Unable to talk more with Lyle, Olive re-entered the parsonage. "'Herald sat reading.

Starting point is 09:58:55 "'Have you long come in?' she asked in a somewhat trembling voice. "'He answered, about an hour. "'I did not see you enter.' "'It was not likely you were engaged with my brother-in-law, therefore I would not disturb you but took my book. He spoke in the abrupt, cold manner he sometimes used. Olive thought something had happened to annoy him. She sat down and talked with him until the cloud passed away.

Starting point is 09:59:20 Many times during the evening Lyle renewed his lamentations over Miss Rothsay's journey, but Harold never uttered one word of regret. When Olive departed, however, he offered to accompany her home. Nay, it is such a rainy night, perhaps. "'Very well, since you choose it so.' "'And he sat down again. "'But Olive saw she had wounded his pride, "'only his pride, she said this to her heart

Starting point is 09:59:44 "'to keep down its unconscious thrill. "'She replied, hesitatingly, "'Still, as we shall not have many more walks together, "'if—I will come,' he said, smiling. "'And he came. "'Moreover he contrived to keep her beside him. "'Lyle, poor fellow, "'went whistling in solitude

Starting point is 10:00:03 "'down the other side of the road, at the dell he said good-night and vanished. Harold had talked all the way on indifferent subjects, never once alluding to Olive's departure. He did so now, however, but carelessly, as if with an accidental thought. I wonder whether you will return before I leave Harbury, that is, if I should really go. I should like to see you once again. Well, chance must decide. Chance!

Starting point is 10:00:29 When she would have controlled all accidents, provided against all hindrances, woven together all purposes to be with him for one single day. At once the thought broke through the happy spell which, for the time, his kindness had laid upon her. She felt that it was only kindness, and as such he meant it, no more. In his feelings was not the faintest echo of her own. A sense of womanly pride arose, and with it a cruel pang of womanly shame. These lasted while she bade him good-night, somewhat coldly, then both sank at once, and there remained to her nothing but helpless sorrow. She listened for the last sound of his footsteps down the road, but she heard them not,

Starting point is 10:01:11 and thought, half-sying, how quickly he must have walked away. A very few days intervened between Miss Rothesay's final decision and her departure. During this time she only once saw Harold Gwynn. She thought he might have met her a little oftener, seeing they were so soon to part. But he did not, and the pain it gave warned her that all was happening for the best. Her health failing, her cheerful spirit broken, even her temper growing embittered with this mournful struggle, she saw that in some way or other it must be ended. She was thankful that all things had arranged themselves so plainly before her. There was planned no farewell meeting at the parsonage, but Mrs. Gwynne spent at the dell the evening before Olive's departure.

Starting point is 10:01:55 Harold would have come, his mother said, but he had some important matters to arrange, He would, however, appear sometime that evening. However, it grew late, and still his welcome knock was not heard. At last one came. It was only Lyle, who called to bid Miss Roth say goodbye. He did so dolorously enough, but Olive scarcely felt any pain. "'It is of no use waiting,' said Mrs. Gwyn. "'I think I will go home with Lyle, that is, if he will take my son's place for the occasion.

Starting point is 10:02:25 It is not quite right of Harold. He does not usually forget his mother.' olive instinctively hinted some excuse she was ever prone to do so when any shadow of blame fell on harold you are always good my dear but still he might have come even for the sake of proper courtesy to you courtesy mrs gwynne entreated olive to call it the parsonage on her journey next morning it would not hinder her a minute little isley was longing for one good-bye and perhaps she might likewise see harold miss rothsay assented it would have been hard to go away without one more look at him one more clasp of his hand yet both seemed denied her when olive reached the parsonage he was not there he had gone out riding little islie thought no one else knew anything about him it was very wrong and unkind said mrs gwynne in real annoyance oh no not at all was all that olive murmured she took iley on her knee and hid her face upon the child's curls ah dear miss rothsay you must come back soon whispered the little girl we can't do without you we have all been much happier since you came to Harbury. Papa said so last night.

Starting point is 10:03:37 Did he? Yes, when I was crying at the thought of your going away, and he came to my little bed and comforted me and kissed me. Oh, you don't know how sweet Papa's kisses are. Now I get so many of them. Before he rode out this morning he gave me half a dozen here upon my eyes, and said I must learn all you taught me and grow up a good woman just like you. What?

Starting point is 10:03:58 Are you crying? Then I will cry, too." She would have laid her thin cheek to the rosy one of Harold's daughter. She wept, but could not speak. "'What kisses you are giving me, dear Miss Rothsay, and just where Papa gives me them, too! How kind! Ah, I love you! I love you dearly!' "'God bless and take care of you, my dear child. Almost as dear as though you had been born my own,' was Mrs. Gwyn's farewell, as she bestowed on Olive one of her rare embraces. And then the parting was over. closing her eyes, her heart, striving to make her thoughts a blank, and to shut out everything save the welcome sense of blind exhaustion that was creeping over her, Olive lay back in the

Starting point is 10:04:41 carriage and was whirled from Harbury. She had a long way to go across the forest country until she reached the nearest railway station. When she arrived it was already late, and she had barely time to take her seat ere the carriages started. That moment her quick ear caught the ringing of a horse's hoofs, and as the rider leaped on the plait of the plough, platform she saw it was Harold Gwynne. He looked round eagerly, more eagerly than she had ever seen him look before. The train was already moving, but they momently recognized each other, and Harold smiled, his own frank affectionate smile. It fell like a sunburst upon Olive Rothsay. Her last sight of him was as he stood with folded arms, intently watching the winding

Starting point is 10:05:23 northward line. Then, feeling that this had taken away half her pain, she was born upon her solitary journey. End of chapter 36. Chapter 37 of Olive. This Liprovoc's recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dina Maria Crake. Chapter 37. There is not in the world a more exquisite sight than a beautiful old age.

Starting point is 10:05:54 It is almost better than a beautiful youth. Early loveliness passes away with its generation, and becomes at best only a melancholy tradition, recounted by the world. younger lips with a half-incredulous smile. But if one must live to be the last relic of a past race, one would desire in departing to leave behind the memory of a graceful old age, and since there is only one kind of beauty which so endures, it ought to be a consolation to those whom fate has denied the personal loveliness which charms at eighteen, to know that we all have it in our power to be beautiful at eighty. Miss, or rather Mrs. Flora Rothsay,

Starting point is 10:06:32 for so she was always called, appeared to Olive the most beautiful old lady she had ever beheld. It was a little after dusk on a dull, wet day when she reached her journey's end. Entering, she saw around her the dazzle of a rich warm firelight, her cloak was removed by light hands, and she felt on both cheeks the kiss of peace and salutation. Is that all of Rothesay? Angus Rothesay's only child!

Starting point is 10:06:59 Welcome to Scotland! Welcome, my dear Lestine! lassie. The voice lost none of its sweetness, forbearing, strongly and unmistakably, the accents of the mountain tongue, though more in tone than phrase, for Mrs. Flora Rothsay spoke with all the purity of a Highland woman. Surely the breezes that rocked Olive's cradle had sung in her memory for twenty years, for she felt like coming home the moment she set foot in her native land. She expressed this to Mrs. Flora, and then, quite overpowered, she knelt and hid her face in the old lady's lap, and her excitement melted away in a soft dew, too sweet to seem

Starting point is 10:07:37 like tears. "'The poor lassie? She's just wearied out,' said Mrs. Flora, laying her hands on Olive's hair. Jean, get her some tea. Now, my Baron, lift up your face? Aye, there it is. Arothsay's every line, and with the golden hair, too? You have heard tell of the weird saying about the Rothses with yellow hair?

Starting point is 10:07:59 No, we will not talk of it now. and the old lady suddenly looked thoughtful even somewhat grave when olive rose up she made her bring a seat opposite to her own arm-chair and there watched her very intently olive herself noticed her aunt with curious eyes mrs flora's attire was quite a picture with the ruffled elbow-sleeves and the long square bodice over which a close white kerchief hid the once lovely neck and throat of her whom old elsby had chronicled and truly as the flower of perth the face olive thought was as she could have imagined mary queen of scots grown old but age could never obliterate the charm of the soft languishing eyes the almost infantile sweetness of the mouth therein sat a spirit ever lovely because ever loving smiling away all natural wrinkles softening down all harsh lines you regarded them no more than the faint shadows in a twilight landscape over which the soul of peace is everywhere diffused there was peace too in the very attitude leaning back the head a little raised the hands crossed each folded round the other's wrist olive particularly noticed these hands On the right was a marriage ring which had outlasted two lives, mother and daughter. On the left, at the wedding finger, was another, a hoop of gold with a single diamond.

Starting point is 10:09:22 Both seemed less ornaments than tokens, gazed on perhaps as the faint landmarks of a long-past journey, which now, with its joys and pains alike, was all fading into shadow before the dawn of another world. So they called you olive, my dear, said Mrs. Flora. A strange name? like of it is not in our family. My mother gave it me from a dream she had. Olive. Now, me, Baron, lift up your face. Aye, I mind it. Harold Gwyn told me, saying that Mrs. Rothesay had told him. Was she then so sweet and dainty a creature, your mother? Once Angus spoke to me of her little Sibylla Hyde. She was his wife, then, though we did not know it. Poor Angus,

Starting point is 10:10:08 we loved him very much, better than he thought. Tears again. my dearie. They do not harm me, Aunt Flora. And so you know, my dear Alison Balfour. She was younger than I. And yet you see we have both grown old wives together. Little Olive, you have come to me in a birthday gift, my dear. I am eighty years old today. Just eighty years, thank the Lord. The old lady reverently raised her blue eyes, true Scottish eyes, limpid and clear as the dew on Scottish Heather. Cheerful they were withal, for they soon began to flit hither and thither, following the motions of Jean's eyed and hand with most housewifely care. And Jean herself, a handmade prim and ancient, but youthful compared to her mistress, seemed to watch the latter's faintest

Starting point is 10:10:56 gesture with most affectionate observance. Of all the light traits which reveal character, none is more suggestive than the sight of a mistress whom her servants love. After tea Mrs. Flora I insisted on Olive's retiring for the night. Your room has a grand view over the braid hills. They call them hills here, but, oh, if you had seen the blue mountains sweeping in waves from the old house at home, night and day I was weary and for them for years after I came to live at Morningside, but one must beendree one's weird. She always spoke in this rambling way, wandering from the subject after the fashion of old age.

Starting point is 10:11:33 Olive could have listened long to the pleasant stream of talk, which seemed murmuring round her, wrapping her in a soft dream of peace. She laid down her tired head on the pillow, with an unwanted feeling of calmness and rest. Even the one weary pain that ever pursued her sank into momentary repose. Her last waking thought was still of Herald, but it was more like the yearning of a spirit from beyond the grave. Just between waking and sleeping, Olive was roused by music. Her door had been left ajar, and the sound she heard was the voices of the household, engaged in their evening devotion. The tune was that sweetest of all Presbyterian psalmody, plaintive martyrs. I'll have caught some words of the hymn. It was one with which she had often,

Starting point is 10:12:20 often been lulled to sleep in poor old Elspie's arms. Distinct and clear its quaint rhymes came back upon her memory now. The Lord's my shepherd, I'll not want. He makes me down to lie. In pastures green, he leadeth me, the quiet waters by. yea though i walk in death's dark veil yet will i fear none ill for thou art with me and thy rod and staff me comfort still poor lonely olive lay and listened then rest deep and placid came over her as over one who escaped from a stormy rack and tempest falls asleep amid the murmur of quiet waters in a pleasant land she awoke in the morning as if waking in another world the clear cold air thrilled filled with sunshine, filled her room. It was the best room, furnished with a curious mingling of the ancient and the modern. The pretty chintz couch laughed at the oaken high-backed chair, stiff with a century of worm-eaten state. On either side the fireplace hung two ancient engravings

Starting point is 10:13:24 of Mary Stewart and Bonnie Prince Charlie, both garnished with verses, at once remarkable for devoted loyalty and eccentric rhythm. Between the two was Sir William Ross's sweet maidenly portrait of our own Victoria. Opposite on a shadowed wall with one sunbeam kissing the face was a large well-painted likeness which Olive at once recognized. It was Mrs. Flora Rothsay at 18. No wonder, Olive thought, that she was called the flower of Perth. But strange it was that the fair flower had been planted in no good man's bosom, that this lovely and winning creature had lived, bloomed, withered, an old maid. Olive, looking into the sweet eyes that followed her everywhere, as those of some portraits do, tried to read therein the foreshadowing of a life history of eighty years.

Starting point is 10:14:13 It made her dreamy and sad, so she arose and looked out upon the sunny slopes of the braid hills until her cheerfulness returned. Then she descended to the breakfast table. It was too early for the old lady to appear, but there were waiting three or four young damsels, invited, they said, to welcome Miss Rothsay and show her the beauties of of Edinburgh. They talked continually of Dear Auntie Flora, and were most anxious to call cousins with all of herself, who, though she could not at all make out the relationship, was quite ready to take it upon faith. She tried very hard properly to distinguish between the three Miss

Starting point is 10:14:50 McGillivray's, daughters of Sir Andrew Rothsay's half-sister's son, and Miss Flora Anstruther, the old lady's third cousin and name-child, and especially little twelve-year-old Maggie Oliphant, whose grandfather was Mrs. Flora's nephew on the mother's side, and first cousin to Alison Balfour. All these conflicting relationships wrapped Olive in an inexplicable net, but it was woven of such friendly arms that she had no wish to get free. Her heart opened to the loving welcome, and when she took her first walk on Scottish ground, it was with a sensation more akin to happiness than she had felt for many a long month. "'And so you have never before seen your aunt,' said one of the McGillivray's,

Starting point is 10:15:31 for her life Olive could not tell whether it was Miss Jane, Miss Janet, or Miss Marion, though she had tried for half an hour to learn the difference. You like her, of course, our dear old Auntie Flora. "'Aunt, to which of you?' said Olive, smiling. "'Oh, she is everybody's Antiflora. No one ever calls her anything else,' observed little Maggie Oliphant, who, during all their walk, clung tenaciously to Miss Rothsay's hand, as most children were prone to do. "'I think,' said the quiet Miss Anne. Struther, lifting up her brown eyes, that in all our lives put together we will never do

Starting point is 10:16:07 half the good that Aunt Flora has done in hers. Papa says every one of her friends ought to be thankful that she has lived an old maid. Yes, indeed, for who else would have had patience with her cross-old brother, Sir Andrew, until he died, said Janet McGillivray? And who, added her sister, would have come and been a mother to us when we lost our own, living with us and taking care of us for seven long years? "'I am sure,' cried Blythe Maggie, "'my brothers and I used often to say

Starting point is 10:16:36 "'that if Auntie Flora had been young "'and any disagreeable husband had come to steal her from us, "'we would have hooted him away down the street "'and pelted him with stones.' "'Aulive laughed and afterwards said thoughtfully. "'She has then lived a happy life, has this good Aunt Flora.' "'Not always happy,' answered the eldest and gravest of the McGillivray's. "'My mother once heard that she had some great trouble in her youth,

Starting point is 10:17:00 but she has outlived it and conquered it in time. People say such things are possible. I cannot tell, added the girl with a faint sigh. There was no more said of Mrs. Flora, but oftentimes during the day, when some passing memory stung poor olive, causing her to turn wearily from the mirth of her young companions, there came before her in gentle reproof,

Starting point is 10:17:22 the likeness of the aged woman who had lived down her one great woe, lived not only to feel but to impart cheerfulness. A few hours after, Olive saw her aunt sitting smiling amidst a little party which she had gathered together, playing with the children, sympathizing with those of elder growth, and looked up to by old and young with an affection passing that of mere kindred. And then there came a balm of hope to the wounded spirit that had felt life's burden too heavy to be born. "'How happy you are!

Starting point is 10:17:52 And how much everyone loves you,' said Olive, when Mrs. Flora and herself were left alone, and their hearts inclined each to each with a vague sympathy. Yours must have been a noble woman's life. I have tried to make it so as far as I could, my dear Baron, and the little good I have done has come back upon me fourfold. It is always so. And you have been content, nay, happy. I, I have.

Starting point is 10:18:19 God quenched the fire on my own hearth that I might learn to make that of others bright. My dear one's life need never be empty of love, even though, after seeing all near Kindred drop away, one lingers to be an old maid of 80 years. End of Chapter 37 Chapter 38 of Olive. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dinah Maria Crake. Chapter 38. No letters today from Harbury, observed Mrs. Flora, as some weeks after Olive's arrival they were taking their usual morning airing along the

Starting point is 10:19:01 Queen's drive. My dear, are you not wearying for news from home? Aunt Flora's house has grown quite home-like to me, said Olive affectionately. It was true. She had sunk down, nestling into its piece like a tired, broken-winged dove. As she sat beside the old lady and drank in the delicious breezes that swept across from the Lothians, she was quite another creature from the pale, drooping Olive Rothesay, who had crept wearily up Harboury hill. Still, the mention of the place even now took a little of the faint roses from her cheek. "'I am glad you are happy, my dear niece,' answered Mrs. Flora.

Starting point is 10:19:40 "'Yet others should not forget you.' "'They do not. Crystal writes now and then from Brighton, "'and Lyle Durwint indulges me with a long letter every week,' said Olive, trying to smile. "'She did not mention Harold. "'She had hardly expected him to write, yet his silence grieved her. "'It felt like a mist of cold estrangement rising up between them.' Yet, as sometimes she tried to think, perhaps it was best so. "'Alice and Gwynn was I the worst of all correspondence,' pursued the old lady.

Starting point is 10:20:12 "'But Harold might write to you. "'I think he did so once or twice when he was living with me here this summer.' "'Yes,' said Olive, "'we have always been good friends. "'I know that. "'It was not little that we talked about you. "'He told me all that happened long ago between your father and himself. "'Ah, that was a strange. strange thing. We have never once spoken of it, neither I nor Mr. Gwynne. Harold could not. He was

Starting point is 10:20:40 sere grieved, and betterly he repented having robbed you. But he was no the same man that he is now. Ah, that gay young wife of his, fair and foes, fair and foes, it's ill for a man that loves such a woman. I would like well to see my dear Harold wed to some leal-hearted lassie, but I fear me it will never be." Thus the old lady's talk gently wandered on. Olive listened in silence, her eyes vacantly turned towards the wide-open country that sweeps down from Duddingston Lock. The yellow harvest-clad valley smiled, but beneath the same bright sky the lock lay quiet, dark and still. The sunshine passed over it and entered it not. Olive wistfully regarded the scene, which seemed a symbol of her own fate. She did not murmur at it,

Starting point is 10:21:28 for day by day her peace was returning. She tried to respond with cheerfulness to the new affections that greeted her on every side, to fill each day with those duties that by the alchemy of a pious nature are so often transmuted into pleasures. She was already beginning to learn the blessed and heaven-sent truth, that no life ought to be wrecked for the love of one human being, and that no sinless sorrow is altogether incurable. The rest of the drive was rather dull, for Mrs. Flora, usually the most talkative, cheerful old lady in the world, seemed disposed to be silent and thoughtful. Not sad. Sadness rarely comes to old age. All strong feelings, whether of joy or pain, belong to youth alone.

Starting point is 10:22:14 You will ride with Marian McGillivray the day, said Mrs. Flora, after a somewhat protracted silence, you bairns will not want an old wifie like me? "'Allive disclaimed this, affirming and with her whole heart, "'that she was never so happy as when with her good Aunt Flora. "'Tis pleasant to hear ye say the like of that, "'but it must be even so, "'for this night I would fain by it alone at home.' "'The carriage stopped in Abercrombie place.

Starting point is 10:22:42 "'I will see ye again the morn,' the old lady observed, "'as her niece descended. "'And then, after looking up pleasantly to the window, "'that was filled with a whole host of juvenile McGarmmy, Gileveray's vehemently nodding and smiling, Aunt Flora pulled down her veil and drove away. "'I thought you would be given up to us for today,' said Marion, as she and Olive, now grown almost into friends, strolled out arm and arm along the shady walks of Morningside. "'Indeed? Did Aunt Flora say? She said nothing. She never does. But for years I have noticed

Starting point is 10:23:15 this twentieth of September, because when she lived with us, on this day after teaching us in the morning, she used to go to her own room or take a long, lonely walk, come back very pale and quiet, and we never saw her again that night. It was the only day in the year that she seemed wishful to keep away from us. Afterwards, when I grew a woman, I found out why this was. Did she tell you? No, Aunt Flora never talks about herself. But from her maid and foster sister, an old woman who died a while ago, I heard a little of the story, and guessed the rest. One easily can't. "'I think I guess, too. But let me hear, that is, if I may hear—' "'Oh, yes, tis many, many years ago. Aunt Flora was quite a girl then, and lived with Sir

Starting point is 10:24:05 Andrew, her elder brother. She had brawurers in plenty, according to Isbell Graham. You should have seen old Isbel, Cousin Olive. However, she cared for nobody, and some said it was for the sake of a far-away cousin of her own, one of the gay Gordons. But he was anything but gay. delicate in health, plain to look at, and poor besides. While he lived he never said to her a word of love, but after he died, and that was not until both were past their youth, there came to Aunt Flora a letter and a ring. She wears it on her wedding finger to this day. "'And this twentieth of September must have been the day he died,' said Olive.

Starting point is 10:24:44 "'I believe so, but she never says a word and never did.' The two walked on silently. Olive was thinking of the long, woe-wasted youth. The knowledge of love requited came too late, and then of her who after this great blow could gird up her strength and endure for nearly fifty years. Aye, so as to find in life not merely peace but sweetness. Olive's own path looked less gloomy to the view. From the depths of her forlorn heart uprose a feeble-winged hope. It came and fluttered about her pale lips, bringing to them, the smile of one, God satisfied, and earth undone.

Starting point is 10:25:23 Marion turned round and saw it. Cousin Olive, how very mild and calm and beautiful you look. Before you came, Aunt Flora told us she had heard you were like a dove. I can understand that now. I think if I were a man I should fall in love with you. With me! Surely you forget! Oh, no, Marion, not with me. That would be impossible.

Starting point is 10:25:47 Marion colored a little, but then earnestly continued. I don't mean anyone who was young and thoughtless, but some grave, wise man, who saw your soul in your face and learned, slowly and quietly, to love you for your goodness. I, in spite of—of— Here the frank, plain-speaking Marion again hesitated a little,

Starting point is 10:26:08 but continued boldly. Any little imperfection which may make you fancy yourself different to other people. If that is your sole reason for saying, as you did the other day that, Nay, Marion, you have talked quite enough of me. But you will forgive me. I could hate myself if I have pained you, seeing how much I love you,

Starting point is 10:26:29 how much everyone learns to love you. Is it so? Then I am very happy. And the smile sat long upon her face. Can you guess whither I am taking you, said Marion, as they paused before a large and handsome gateway. Here is the Roman Catholic convent, "'Beautiful St. Margaret's, the sweetest spot at Morningside.

Starting point is 10:26:51 "'Shall we enter?' "'Aulov assented. "'Of late she had often thought of those old tales of forlorn women, "'who, sick of life, had hidden themselves from the world in solitudes like this. "'Sometimes she had almost wished she could do the same. "'A feeling deeper than curiosity attracted her to the convent of St. Margaret's. "'It was indeed a sweet place, one that a weary heart might well long after. The whole atmosphere was filled with a soft calm, a silence like death, and yet a freshness

Starting point is 10:27:23 as of newborn life. When the heavy door closed it seemed to shut out the world, and without any sense of regret or loss, you passed, like a passing soul, into another existence. They entered the little convent parlor. There, on the plain, ungarished walls, hung the two favorite pictures of Catholic worship. One, thorn-crowned, insanguined, but still divine. The other, the mother lifted above all mothers in blessedness and suffering. Olive gazed long upon both. They seemed meat for the place. Looking at them, one felt as if all trivial earthly sorrows must crumble into dust before these two grand images of sublime woe. "'I think,' said Miss Rothsay, "'if I were a nun and had known ever so great

Starting point is 10:28:12 misery. I should grow calm by looking at these pictures.' "'The nuns don't pass their time in that way, I assure you,' answered Marion McGillivray. "'They spend it in making such things as these.' And she pointed to a case of babyish ornaments, pincushions, and artificial flowers. "'How very strange,' said Olive, "'to think that the interests and duties of a woman's life should sink down into such trifles as these. I wonder if the nuns are happy.'

Starting point is 10:28:39 Stay and judge, for here comes one, my chief friend here, Sister Ignatia. And Sister Ignatia, who was, despite her quaint dress, the most bright-eyed, cheerful-looking little Scotch-woman imaginable, stolen, kissed Marion on both cheeks, smiled a pleasant welcome on the stranger, and began talking in a manner so simple and hearty that Olive's previous notions of a nun were cast to the winds. But after a while, there seemed to her something painfully solemn in looking upon the sisters, where not one outward line marked the inward current which had run on for forty years. How, who could tell? All was silence now. They went all over the convent. There was a still pureness pervading every room. Now and then a black stalled figure crossed

Starting point is 10:29:29 their way and vanished like a ghost. Sister Ignatia chattered merrily about their work, their beautiful flowers, and their pupils of the convent school. Happy, very happy, very happy. she said they all were at St. Margaret's, but it seemed to Olive like the aimless, thoughtless happiness of a child. Still, when there came across her mind the remembrance of herself, a woman all alone, struggling with the world and with her own heart, looking forward to a life's toil for bread and for fame, with which she must try to quench one undying thirst.

Starting point is 10:30:01 When she thus thought, she almost longed for such an existence as this quiet monotony, without pleasure and without pain. "'You must come and see our chapel, our beautiful chapel,' said Sister Ignatia. "'We have got pictures of our St. Margaret and all her children.' And when they reached the spot, a gilded, decorated flower-garden temple, she pointed out with great interest the various memorials of the sainted Scottish queen. Olive thought, though she did not then say, that noble Margaret, the mother of her people, the softener of her half-savage lord, the teacher and guide of her children, was more near the

Starting point is 10:30:40 ideal of womanhood than the simple, kind-hearted but childish worshippers, who spent their lives in the harmless baby-play of decking her shrine with flowers. Yet these are excellent women, said Marion McGillivray, when, on their departure, Olive expressed her thoughts aloud. You cannot imagine the good they do in their restricted way. But still, if one must lead a solitary life, I would rather be Aunt Flora. Yes, a thousand thousand times. There is something far higher in a woman who goes about the world, keeping her heart consecrated to heaven and to some human memories,

Starting point is 10:31:16 not shrinking from her appointed work, but doing it meekly and diligently, hour by hour through life's long day, waiting until at Eve God lifts the burden off, saying, Faithful handmade, sleep. Olive spoke softly but earnestly. Marian did not quite understand her, but she thought everything Miss Rothsay said must be true and good, and was always pleased to watch her the while, declaring that whenever she talked thus her face became like an angel's. Miss Rothsay spent the evening very happily, though in the noisy household of the

Starting point is 10:31:50 McGillivray's. She listened to the elder girl's music and let the younger tribe of wee toddling bernies climb on her knee and pull her curls. Finally, she began to think that some of these days there would be great pleasure in becoming an universal Aunt Olive to the rising generation. She walked home, escorted valiantly by three stout boys, who guided her by a most circuitous route across Brunsfield links that she might gain a moonlight view of the couch and lion of Arthur's seat.

Starting point is 10:32:20 They amused her the whole way home with Tales of High School warfare. On reaching the garden gate, she was, was half surprised to hear the unwanted cheerfulness of her own laugh. The sunshine she daily strove to cast around her was falling faintly back upon her own heart. "'Good night! Good night, Alan, and Charlie and James. We must have another merry walk soon,' was her gay adieu as the boys departed, leaving her in the garden walk, where Mrs. Flora's tall hollyhocks cast a heavy shadow up to the hall door. "'You seem very happy, Miss Rothsay.'

Starting point is 10:32:55 The voice came from someone standing close by. The next instant her hand was taken in that of Harold Gwynn, but the pressure was very cold. Olive's heart, which had leapt up within her, sank down heavily, so heavily that her greeting was only the chilling words. "'I did not expect to see you here.' "'Possibly not, but I—I had business in Edinburgh. However it will not, I think, detain me long.' He said this sharply, even bitterly.

Starting point is 10:33:24 "'Olive, startled by the suddenness of this meeting, could make no answer. "'But as they stood beneath the lamp she glanced at the face, "'whose every change she knew so well, "'she saw that something troubled him. "'Forgetful of all besides, her heart turned to him in sympathy and tenderness. "'There is nothing wrong, surely. "'Tell me, are you quite well, quite happy? "'You do not know how glad I am to see you, my dear friend.'

Starting point is 10:33:50 "'And her hand alighted softly on his arm like a bird of peering. Heald pressed it and kept it there, as he often did. They were used to that kind of friendly familiarity. "'You are very good, Miss Rothsay. Yes, all is well at Harbury. Pray be quite easy on that account. But I thought, hearing how merry you were at the garden gate, that amidst your pleasures here you scarcely remembered us at all.' His somewhat vexed tone went to Olive's heart, but she only answered, "'You were not quite right there. I never forget my friend. I never forget my friends. No, no, I ought to have known that. Forgive me. I speak rudely, unkindly, but I have so many things to embitter me just now. Let us go in, and you shall talk my ill-humour away as you have done

Starting point is 10:34:38 many a time. There was a repentant accent in his voice as he drew Olive's arm in his, and she, she looked and spoke and smiled as she had long learned to do. In the little quiet face, the soft, subdued manner, was no trace of any passion or emotion. "'Have you seen Aunt Flora?' said Olive, as they stood together in the parlor. "'No. When I came she had already retired. I have only been here an hour. I passed that time and walking about the garden. Jean told me you would come in soon. I would have come sooner had I known. How weary you must be after your journey. Come, take Aunt Flora's chair here and rest.' He did indeed seem to need rest.

Starting point is 10:35:22 As he leaned back with closed eyes on the cushions she had placed, Olive stood and looked at him a moment. She thought, Oh, that I were dead and become an invisible spirit, that I might comfort and help him, but I shall never do it, never in this world. She pressed back two burning tears, and then began to move about the room, arranging little household matters for his comfort. She had never done so before, and now the duties seemed sweet and home-like, like those of a sister, or a wife. Once she thought thus, but she dared not think again. And Harold was watching her, too, following her, as she deemed, with the listless gaze of weariness. But soon he turned his face from her, and whatever was written thereon Olive read no more. He was to stay that

Starting point is 10:36:12 night, for Mrs. Flora's house was always his home in Edinburgh, but he seemed disinclined to talk. "'One or two questions Olive put about himself and his plans, "'but they seemed to increase his restlessness. "'I cannot tell. "'Perhaps I shall go, perhaps not at all. "'We will talk the matter over tomorrow, "'that is, if you are still kind enough to listen.' "'She smiled.

Starting point is 10:36:36 "'Little doubt of that, I think. "'Thank you. "'And now I will say good-night,' "'observed Harold, rising. "'Air he went, however, "'he looked down curiously into Olive's face. You seem quite strong and well now, Miss Rothsay. You have been happy here. Happy, oh yes, quite happy. I thought it would be so. I was right, though still—but I am glad, very glad to hear it. Good night.

Starting point is 10:37:05 He shook her hand, an easy, careless shake, not the close lingering clasp, how different they were. Then he went quickly upstairs to his chamber. But hour after hour sped. The darkness changed to dawn, the dawn to light, and still olive lay sleepless. Her heart stirred from its serenity, again swayed miserably to and fro. Vainly she argued with herself on her folly in giving way to these emotions, counting over, even in pitiful scorn, the years that she had passed her youth. "'Three more, and I shall be a woman of thirty. Yet here I lie, drowning my pillow with tears like a lovesick girl.

Starting point is 10:37:47 Oh, that this trouble had visited me long ago, that I might have risen up from it like the young grass after rain! But now it falls on me like an autumn storm. It tears me, it crushes me, I shall never, never rise. When it was broad daylight she roused herself, bathed her brow in water, shut out the sunbeams from her hot, aching eyes, and then lay down again and slept. Sleeping, she dreamed that she was walking with Harold Gwynne, hand in hand as if they were little children. Suddenly he took her in his arms, clasping her close as a lover

Starting point is 10:38:24 his betrothed, and in doing so pressed a bright steel into her heart. Yet it was such sweet death that waking she would fain have wished it true. But she lifted her head, saw the sunlight dancing on the floor, and knew that the morning was come, that she must rise once more to renew her life's bitter strife. End of Chapter 38. Chapter 39 of Olive. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dinah Maria Crake.

Starting point is 10:39:03 Chapter 39. Olive dressed herself carefully in her delicate colored morning gown. She was one of those women who take pains to appear freshest and fairest in the early hours of the day, to greet the sun as the flowers greet him, rich in the dew of youth. Despite her weary vigil, the balmy morning brought color to her cheek and a faint sweetness to her heart. It was a new and pleasant thing to wake beneath the same roof as Harold Gwynn, to know that

Starting point is 10:39:32 his face would meet her when she descended, that she would walk and talk with him the whole day long. Never did any woman think less of herself than Olive Roth say. Yet as she stood twisting up her beautiful hair, she felt glad that it was beautiful. Once she thought of what Marion had told her about someone saying she was like a dove, who said it? Not Harold, that was impossible. Arranging her dress, she looked a moment, with half-mornful curiosity, at the pale, small face reflected in the mirror.

Starting point is 10:40:05 Ah, no, there is no beauty in me. Even did he care for me I could give him nothing but my poor heart. I can give him that still. It can do him no harm to love him. The very act of loving is blessedness to me. So thinking she left her chamber. It was long before the old lady's time for rising. There was no one in the breakfast room,

Starting point is 10:40:27 but she saw Harold walking on the garden terrace. Very soon he came in with some heliotrope in his hand. He did not give it to Olive, but laid it by her plate, observing, half carelessly. You were always fond of heliotropes, Miss Rothsay. Thank you for remembering my likings. And Olive put the flowers in her bosom. She fancied he looked pleased,

Starting point is 10:40:50 and suddenly she remembered the meaning given to the flower. I love you. At the thought, she began to tremble all over, though contemning her own folly the while. Even had the words been true, she and Harold were both too old for such sentimentalities. They breakfasted alone. Harold still looked pale and weary,

Starting point is 10:41:10 nor did he deny the fact that he had scarcely slept. He told her all the harbory news, spoke little of himself or of his plans. They were yet uncertain, he said, but a few more days would decide all. And then he remained silent until, a little time after, they were standing together at the window. From thence it was a pleasant view. Close beneath, a little fountain rose in slender diamond threads, and fell again with a soft trickling, like a naiad sigh. Bees were humming over the richest of autumn flower gardens, which sloped down, terrace after terrace, until its boundary was hid in the little valley below. Beyond, looking in the clear September air so close

Starting point is 10:41:53 that you could almost see the purple of the heather, lay the braid hills, a horizon line soft as that which enclosed the happy valley of Prince Rasselas. Herald stood and gazed. How beautiful and calm this is! It looks like a quiet nest, a home for a man's tired, heart and brain. Tell me, friend, do you think one could ever find such in this world? A home, she repeated, somewhat confusedly, for his voice had startled her. You have often said that man needed none, that his life was in himself, the life of intellect and of power. It is only we women who have a longing after rest and home. Harold made no immediate reply, but after a while he said, I want to have a quiet talk with you, Miss Rothsay, and I long to

Starting point is 10:42:41 once more my favorite haunt, the hermitage of braid. Tis a sweet place, and we can walk and converse there at our leisure. You will come?' She rarely said him nay in anything, and he somehow unconsciously used a tone of command like an elder brother, but there was such sweetness in being ruled by him. Olive obeyed at once, and soon, for the thousandth time, she and Harold were walking out together arm in arm. If ever there was a lover's walk, it is that which winds along the burn side in the hermitage of braid. On either side, the brays ascend like lofty waes, shutting out all but the small blue rift of sky above. Even the sun seemed slow to peep in, as if his brightness were not needed by those who walk in the light of their own hearts. And the

Starting point is 10:43:28 little birds warble, and the little Bernie runs, as if neither knew there was a weary world outside, where many a heart, pure as either, grows dumb amidst its singing and freezes slowly as it flows. Olive walked along by Harold's side in a happy dream. He looked so cheerful, so good, a word she had often used, and he had smiled at, meaning those times when, beneath her influence, the bitterness melted from him. Such times there were, else she could never have learned to love him as she did. Then as now, his eyes were wont to lighten and his lips to smile,

Starting point is 10:44:05 and there came an almost angelic beauty over his face. "'I think,' he said, "'that my spirit is changing within me. "'I feel as if I had never known life until now. "'In vain I say unto myself "'that this must be a mere fantasy of mine. "'I, who am marked with the frost of eld, "'who will soon be, let me see,

Starting point is 10:44:26 "'seven and thirty years old. "'What think you of that age?' "'His eyes bent on her, "'spoke more than mere curiosity, "'but Olive, unaware, looked up and smiled. "'Why I am getting, elderly myself, but I heed it not. One need mind nothing if one's heart does not grow old. Does yours? I hope not. I would like to lead a life like Aunt Flores, a quiet stream that goes

Starting point is 10:44:51 on singing to the end. "'Look me in the face, Olive Roth say,' said Harold abruptly. "'Nay, pardon me, but I speak like one a thirst, who would fain know if any other human thirst is ever satisfied. Tell me, do you look back on your life with content and forward with hope. Are you happy?" Olive's eyes sank on the ground. "'Do not question me so,' she said, trembling. "'In life there is nothing perfect, but I have peace, great peace. And for you there might be not only peace but happiness.' Again there fell between them one of those posits, which rarely come save between two friends or lovers, who know thoroughly, in words or in

Starting point is 10:45:33 silence, each other's hearts. Then, Harold, guiding the conversation as he always did, changed it suddenly. I am thinking of the last time I walked here, when I came to Edinburgh this summer. There was with me one whom I regarded highly, and we talked, as gravely as you and I do now, though on a far different theme. What was it? One suited to the season and the place, and my friend's ardent youth. He was in love, poor fellow, and he asked me about his wooing. Perhaps you may think he chose an advisor ill-fitted to the task. Harold spoke carelessly, and, waiting Olive's reply, he pulled a handful of red-brown leaves from a tree that overhung the path, and began playing with them.

Starting point is 10:46:18 You do not answer, Miss Rothsay, come, there is scarcely a subject that we have not discussed at some time or other, save this. Let us, just for amusement, take my friend's melancholy case as a text, and argue concerning what young people call love. As you will. A cold acquiescence. You think perhaps the matter is either above or beneath me, that I can have no interest therein. And his eyes, bright, piercing, commanding, seemed to force an answer.

Starting point is 10:46:49 It came, very quietly and coldly. I have heard you say that love was the brief madness of a man's life, if fulfilled a burden, if unfulfilled or deceived a curse. I said so, did I? Well, you give my opinions. What think you of me? Answer truly like a friend. She did so.

Starting point is 10:47:10 She never could look in Harold's eyes and tell him what was not true. I think you are one of those men in whom strong intellect prevents the need of love. Youthful passion you may have felt, but true, deep, earnest love you never did know, and as I believe never will. "'Nay, forgive me if I err. I only take you on your own showing.' "'Thank you, thank you. You speak honestly and frankly. That is something for a woman,' muttered Harold. And then there was a long, awkward pause. How one poor heart ached the while.

Starting point is 10:47:45 At last, fearing that her silence annoyed him, Olive took courage to say, "'You were going to talk to me about your plans. Do so now. That is, if you are not angry with me,' She added, with a little deprecatory soothing. It seemed to touch him. Angry? How could you think so? I am never angry with you. But what do you desire to hear about?

Starting point is 10:48:07 Whither I am going and when? Do you then wish, I mean, advise me to go? Yes, if it is for your good. If leaving Harbury would give you rest on that one subject of which we never speak. But of which I, at least, think night and day, and never without a prayer, I can pray now, "'for the good angel who brought light into my darkness,' said Harold solemnly. "'That comfort is with me, whatever else may. "'But you wanted to hear about my going abroad.'

Starting point is 10:48:36 "'Yes, tell me all. You know I like to hear.' "'Well, then, I have only to decide, and I might depart immediately. "'To America, I think. I should engage in science and literature. "'Mine would be a safe, sure course. "'But at the beginning I might have a hard struggle. "'I do not like to take anyone to share. it." "'Not your mother who loves you so?'

Starting point is 10:48:59 "'No, because her love would be sorely tried. We should be strangers in a strange land. Perhaps poverty would be added to our endurance. I should have to labor unceasingly and my temper might fail. These are hard things for a woman to bear.' "'You do not know what a woman's affection is,' said Olive earnestly. "'How could she be desolate when she had you with her? Little would she care for being poor.

Starting point is 10:49:24 And if, when sorely tried, you were bitter at times, the more need for her to soothe you. We can bear all things for those we love." "'Is it so?' Harold said thoughtfully, his countenance changing, and his voice becoming soft as he looked upon her. "'Do you think that any woman—I mean my mother, of course, would love me with this love?' And once more Olive taught herself to answer calmly. "'I do think so.' Again there was a silence.

Starting point is 10:49:54 broke it by saying, You would smile to know how childishly my last walk here haunts me. I really must go and see that love-stricken friend of mine. But you, I suppose, take no interest in his wooing. Oh, yes, I like to hear of young people's happiness. But he was not quite happy. He did not know whether the woman he loved loved him. He had never asked her the question.

Starting point is 10:50:17 Why not? There were several reasons. First, because he was a proud man, and, like many others, had been deceived once. He would not again let a girl mock his peace. And he was right. Do you not think so?' "'Yes, if she were one who would act so cruelly, but no true woman ever mocked at true love. Rarely, knowingly, would she give cause for it to be cast before her in vain? If your friend be worthy, how knows he but that she may love him all the while?' "'Well, well, let that pass.

Starting point is 10:50:49 He has other reasons.' He paused and looked towards her, but Olive's face was drooped out of sight. He continued, reasons such as men only feel. You know not what an awful thing it is to cast one's pride, one's hope, perhaps the wheel or woe of one's whole life upon a woman's light yes or no. I speak, he added abruptly, as my friend the youth in love would speak. Yes, I know, I understand. Tell me more. That is, if I may hear. Oh, certainly. His other reasons were that he was poor, that, if betrothed it might be years before they could marry, or perhaps, as his health was feeble, he might die and never call her wife at all. Therefore, though he loved her as dearly as ever man-loved woman, he held it right and good and just to keep silence.

Starting point is 10:51:41 Did he imagine, even in his lightest thought that she loved him? He could not tell. Sometimes it almost seemed so. Then he was wrong, cruelly wrong! He thought of his own pride, not of her. Little he knew the long, silent agony she must bear, the doubt of being loved causing shame for loving. Little he saw of the daily struggle, the poor heart frozen sometimes into dull endurance, and then wakened into miserable throbbing life

Starting point is 10:52:11 by the shining of some hope, which passes, and leaves it darker and colder than before. Poor thing! Poor thing! And utterly forgetting herself, forgetting all but the compassion learnt from sorrow, Olive spoke with strong agitation. Harold watched her intently. Your words are sympathizing and kind.

Starting point is 10:52:33 Say on, what should he this lover do? Let him tell her that he loves her. Let him save her from the misery that wears away youth and strength and hope. What, and bind her by a promise which it may take years to fulfill? If he has won her heart she is already by, bound. It is mockery to talk as the world talks of the sense of honor that leaves a woman free. She is not free. She is as much bound as if she were married to him. Tell him so. Bid him take her to his heart, that to come what will she may feel she has a place there. Let him not insult her

Starting point is 10:53:12 by the doubt that she dreads poverty or long delay. If she loves him truly, she will wait years, a whole lifetime until he claim her. If he labor, she will strengthen him. If he suffer, she will comfort him. In the world's fierce battle, her faithfulness will be to him rest and help and balm. But, said Harold, his voice hoarse and trembling, what if they should live on thus for years and never marry? What if he should die? Die? Yes, if so far better that he should have never spoken, that his secret should go down with him to the grave. What? You mean that he should die, and she never know that he loved her? Oh, heaven! What misery could equal that? As Olive spoke, the tears sprang into her eyes, and, utterly subdued,

Starting point is 10:54:02 she stood still and let them flow. Herald too seemed strangely moved, but only for a moment. Then he said, very softly and quietly, Miss Rothsay, you speak like one who feels, every word, these are things we learn in but one school. Tell me, as a friend who night and day prays for your happiness, are you not speaking from your own heart? You love, or you have loved. For a moment Olive's senses seemed to real, but his eyes were upon her, those truthful, truth-searching eyes. Must I look in his face and tell him a lie? Was her half-frenzied thought. I cannot, I cannot, I cannot, and the whole truth he will never, never know.' Dropping her head, she answered in one word,

Starting point is 10:54:52 "'Yes.' "'And with a woman like you, to love once is to love forevermore.' Again Olive bent her head, and that was all. There was a sound as of crushed leaves, and those with which Harold had been playing fell scattered on the ground. He gave no other sign of emotion or sympathy. for many minutes they walked on slowly the little laughing brook beside them seeming to rise like a thunder voice upon the dead silence olive listened to every ripple that fell as it were like the boom of an engulfing wave nothing else she heard or felt or thought until herald spoke his tone was soft and very kind and he took her hand the while

Starting point is 10:55:37 i thank you for this confidence you must forgive me if i did wrong in asking it henceforth i shall ask no more if your life be happy as i pray god it may you will have no need of me if not hold me ever to your service as a true friend and brother She stooped, she leaned her brow upon the two clasped hands, her own and his, and wept as if her heart were breaking. But very soon all this ceased, and she felt a calmness like death. Upon it broke Harold's cold, clear voice, as cold and clear as ever. Once more let me tell you all I owe you, friendship, counsel, patience, for I have tried your patience much. I pray you pardon me. from you i have learned to have faith in heaven peace towards man reverence for women your friendship has blessed me may god bless you his words ceased somewhat tremulously and she felt for the first time harold's lips touch her hand quietly and mutely they walked home quietly and mutely nay even coldly they parted the time had come and passed and between their two hearts now rose the silence of an existence

Starting point is 10:56:55 end of chapter thirty nine chapter forty of olive this libravox recording is in the public domain olive by dinah maria crake chapter forty Olive and Harold parted at Mrs. Flora's gate. He had business in town, he said, but would return to dinner. So he walked quickly away, and Olive went in and crept upstairs. There she bolted her door, groped her way to the bed and lay down. Life and strength, hope and love seemed to have ebbed from her at once. She felt no power or desire to weep. Once or twice she caught herself murmuring half aloud.

Starting point is 10:57:44 It is all over, quite over, there can be no doubt now. And then she knew, by this utter death of hope that it must have lived once, a feeble half-unconscious life, but life it was. Despite her reason, and the settled conviction to which she had tutored herself, she must have had some faint thought that Harold loved her. Now, this dream gone, she might perhaps rise, as a soul rises from the death of the body into a new existence. But of that she could not yet think.

Starting point is 10:58:19 She only lay, motionless as a corpse, with hands folded and eyes firmly closed. Sometimes, with a strange wandering of fancy, she seemed to see herself thus, looking down, as a spirit might do upon its own olden self with a vague compassion. Once she even muttered, in a sort of childish way, "'Poor little olive! Poor, crushed, broken thing!' "'Thus she lay for many hours, sometimes passing into what was either a swoon or a sleep.

Starting point is 10:58:54 At last she roused herself, and saw by the shadows that it was quite late in the day. There is great mournfulness in waking thus of one's own accord and alone, hearing the various noises of the busy midday household, and feeling as if all would go on just the same without thought of us, even if we had died in that weary sleep. All of wished she had, that is, had heaven willed it. She could so easily have crept out of the bitter world and no one would have missed her.

Starting point is 10:59:23 Still, if it must be, she would try once more to lift her burden and pursue her way. There was a little comfort for her the minute she went downstairs. Entering the drawing-room, she met Mrs. Flora's brightest smile. My dear Lassie, welcome. Have you been sleeping after you? your weary walk this morning." "'This morning!' echoed poor Olive.

Starting point is 10:59:46 She had half forgotten what had happened then. There had come such a death-like cloud between. "'You were both away at the hermitage, Harold said. Ah, poor Harold!' Olive stood waiting to hear some horrible tidings. All misfortunes seemed to come so naturally now. She felt as though she would scarcely have wondered had they told her Harold was dead.

Starting point is 11:00:08 "'My dear Harold has gone away?' "'Gone away,' repeated Olive slowly, "'as her cold hands fell heavily on her lap. "'She gave no other sign.' "'Ah,' continued the unconscious old lady, "'something has gone ill with the lad. "'He came in here, troubled like, "'and said he must just depart at once.

Starting point is 11:00:31 "'He was here, then. "'Only for a wee while. "'I would have sent for ye, my dearie, "'but Jean said you were sleeping, and Harold said we had best not waking you, for you'd seemed wearied. He could not wait longer, so he bade me bid you farewell. Lassie! Lassie, stay? But Olive had already crept out of the room.

Starting point is 11:00:51 He was gone then. That last clasp of his hand was indeed the last. Oh, miserable parting! Not as between two who love and loving can murmur the farewell, heart to heart until its sweetness lingers there long after its sound has ceased. but a parting that has no voice, no hope, wherein one soul follows the other in a wild despair, crying, give me back my life that is gone after thee,

Starting point is 11:01:18 and from the void silence there comes no answer, until the whole earth grows blank and dark like a universal grave. For many days after that day, Olive scarcely lifted her head. There came to her some friendly physical ailment, cold or fever, so that she had an excuse to come, comply with Mrs. Flora's affectionate orders, and take refuge in the quietness of a sick-chamber. There such showers of love poured down upon her that she rose refreshed and calmed. After a few weeks her spirit came to her again like a little child's, and she was once more

Starting point is 11:01:55 the quiet Olive Rothsay, rich in all social affections, and even content, save for the one never-ceasing pain. After a season of rest, she began earnestly to consider her future, especially with respect to her art. She longed to go back to it and drink again at its wells of peace, for dearly, dearly she loved it still. Half-smiling, she began to call her pictures her children, and to think of the time when they, a goodly race, would live and tell no tale of their creators' woe. This art life, all the life she had and all she would leave behind. mind, must not be sacrificed by any miserable contest with an utterly hopeless human love.

Starting point is 11:02:40 Therefore, she determined to quit Harbury, and at once, before she began to paint her next picture. Her first plan had been to go and live in London, but this was overruled by Mrs. Flora Rothsay. "'By it here with me, my dear niece, come and dwell among your ain't folk, your father's kin?' And so it was at last fixed to be. But first Olive must go back to Farnwood, to wind up the affairs of her little household, and to arrange about Crystal. She had lately thought a good deal of this young girl, chiefly perhaps, because she was now

Starting point is 11:03:15 so eagerly clinging to every interest that could occupy her future life. She remembered, with a little compunction, how her heart had sprung to Crystal on her first coming, and how that sympathy had slowly died away, possibly from its being so lightly reciprocated. Though nominally one of the household at the Dell, Miss Manners had gradually seceded from it, so that by degrees the interest with which Olive had once regarded her melted down into the mere liking of duty. Whether this should be continued became now a matter of question. Olive felt almost indifferent on the subject, but determined that Crystal herself should decide. She never would give up the girl, not even to go and live in the dear quiet household

Starting point is 11:04:00 of Aunt Flora. Having thus far made up her mind, Miss Rathsay fixed the day for her return to Farnwood, a return looked forward to with a mixture of fear and yearning. But the trial must be born. It could not be for long. Ever since his departure, Olive had never heard the sound of Harold's name. Mrs. Flora did not talk of him at all. This, her niece thought, sprang from the natural forgetfulness of old age, which, even when least selfish, seems unconsciously to narrow its interest to the small circle of its own daily life. But perhaps the old lady was more quick-sighted than Olive dreamed, for such a true and tried heart could hardly be quite frozen, even with the apathy of eighty years. A few days before Olive's journey, Mrs. Flora called her

Starting point is 11:04:48 into her own room, "'I have something to say to ye lassie. You'll listen to the old wife?' "'Aunt Flora,' said Olive in affectionate reproach, "'and, sitting down at her feet, "'she took the withered hand and laid it on her neck. "'My sweet wee lassie, my bonnie, bonny-bonny-birdie,' "'said the tender-hearted old lady, "'who often treated her grand-nieces if she were a child. "'If I had known sooner that poor Angus had left a daughter,

Starting point is 11:05:17 "'my dearie, come back soon.' "'In a month, Auntie Flora.' "'A month seems long. "'At eighty years one should not boast of the morrow. "'That is why I will tell ye now what rests on my mind. "'Well, dear aunt, let me hear it. "'Tis anent the waredly gear that I will leave behind me. "'I have been aye careful of the good things heaven lent me.'

Starting point is 11:05:39 "'She paused, but Olive, not quite knowing what to say, said nothing at all. "'Mrs. Flora continued. "'God has given me great length of days. "'I have seen the young-grown old and the old parish. "'Some I would fain have chosen to come after me, have gone away before me. "'Some have enough and need no more. "'Of all my keth and ken there is none to whom the bit-siller can do good, "'but my niece, Olive, and Harold Gwyn,

Starting point is 11:06:05 "'does that grieve ye lassie? "'Nay, his right is no like yours. "'But he comes of blood that was sib to ours. "'Alison Balfour was a Gordon by the mother's sight.' "'As Mrs. Flora uttered the name, "'Allive felt a movement in the left hand that lay on her neck. The aged fingers were fluttering to and fro over the diamond ring. She looked up, but there was perfect serenity on the face.

Starting point is 11:06:29 And, turning back, she prayed that the like peace might come to her in time. "'Before ye came,' continued Mrs. Flora, "'I thought to make herald my heir and that he should take the name of Gordon, for dearly I love that name in Ald Langsain. Alasie, even in this world God can wipe away all tears from our eyes so that we may look clearly forth unto the eternal land. Amen, amen, murmured Olive Rothsay.

Starting point is 11:06:58 I, though while she uttered the prayer, her own tears blindingly rose. But her aunt's soft, cold hand, glided silently on her drooped head, pressing its throbbings into peace. I am way to think, continued the old lady, that ye are the last of the Rothsay line,

Starting point is 11:07:16 the name must end, even should Olive marry? "'I shall never marry, Aunt Flora. "'I shall live as you have done. "'God make my life equally worthy.' "'Is it so?' "'I thought it was different. "'Then, Olive, my child,

Starting point is 11:07:33 "'may God comfort thee with his peace?' "'Mrs. Flora kissed her on the forehead, "'and asked no more. "' Shortly afterwards she again began to speak about her will. "'She wished to be just,' she said, "'and to leave her property where it would be most required. "'Her heart inclined. lined chiefly to her niece, as being a woman struggling alone through the world,

Starting point is 11:07:55 whereas Harold, firmly settled in his curacy, would not need additional fortune. "'Oh, but he does need it! You little know how sorely!' cried Olive. "'A? my dear, he a minister?' Olive drew back, afraid lest she had betrayed too much of the secret so painfully shared between her and Harold Gwynne. She trembled and blushed beneath the old lady's keen. keen eyes. At last, she said, beseechingly, "'Aunt Flora, do not question me. I cannot, ought not, to tell you any more than this, that there may come a time when this money might save him from great misery.'

Starting point is 11:08:34 "'Mesery I follow sin,' said Mrs. Flora, almost sternly. "'Am I deceived in him, my dear Herald? Poor Alison's son? No, no, no. He is noble, just and true. There is no one like him in the whole. "'All world!' cried Olive, and then stopped, covered with blushes. But soon the weakness passed. "'Listen to me, Aunt Flora, for this once. Harold Gwynn,' she faltered not over the name. Harold Gwynn is and will be always my dear friend and brother.

Starting point is 11:09:08 I know more of his affairs than anyone else, and I know too that he may be in great poverty one day. For me I have only myself to work for, and work I must, since it is the comfort of it. my life. As to this fortune, I need it not. How should I? I entreat you, leave it all to him.' Mrs. Flora wrapped her arms round her niece without speaking, nor did she again refer to the subject. But the night before Olive left Edinburgh, she bade her farewell with a solemn blessing, the more solemn, as it was given in words taken out of the holy book which she had just closed,

Starting point is 11:09:45 words never used lightly by the aged Presbyterian. The Lord bless thee and keep thee. The Lord cause his face to shine upon thee. The Lord give thee thy heart's desire, and fulfill all thy mind. Olive rose with an indescribable sense of hope and peace. As she left the room she looked once more at her aunt. Mrs. Flora sat in her crimson chair, her hands laid on her knee, her face grave but serene and half-lifted, like one who harkens to some unseen call.

Starting point is 11:10:20 A secret consciousness struck Olive that in this world she should never more hear the voice or see the face of one who had been truly a saint on earth. It was indeed so. End of Chapter 40. Chapter 41 of Olive. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dinah Maria Crake Chapter 41 Coming Home

Starting point is 11:10:52 Coming Home In different ears how differently sound the words They who in all their wanderings have still the little, well-filled, love-expectant nest Whereto they may wing their way, Should think sometimes of the many there are to whom the whole wide world is all alike, Whose sole rest must be in themselves, Who never can truly say, I am going home, home, until they say it with eyes turned longingly towards a home unseen.

Starting point is 11:11:21 Something of this mournfulness felt Olive Rothsay. It was dreary enough to reach her journey's end alone, and have to wait some hours at the small railway station, and then, tired and worn, to be driven for miles across the country through the gloomiest of all gloomy November days. Still the dreariness passed, when she saw, shining from afar, the light from the windows of Farnwood Dell. As the chaise stopped, out came running old Hannah, the maid, with little Ely, too, while awaiting her in the parlor were Crystal and Mrs. Gwyn, no one else. Olive saw that in one moment, and blamed herself for having wished what she had no right

Starting point is 11:12:03 to hope, what had best not be. Mrs. Gwynn embraced her warmly, Crystal with dignified grace. The young lady looked gay and pleased, and there was a subdued light in her black eyes which almost softened them into sweetness. The quick, restless manner in which she had indulged at times since she came to Farnwood seemed melting into a becoming womanliness. Altogether, Crystal was improved. Well now, I suppose you will be wanting to hear the news of all your friends, said Miss Manners, with smiles bubbling round her pretty mouth. We are not all quite the same as you left us. To begin with, let me see. Mr. Harold Gwynn. Of that, Miss

Starting point is 11:12:45 "'I will beg you not to speak. "'It is a painful subject to me,' observed Mrs. Gwynne, with a vexed air. "'You need not look at me so earnestly, dear kind Olive. "'All is well with me and with my son, "'but he has done what I think is not exactly good for him, "'and it somewhat troubles me. "'However, we will talk of this another time.' "'More news do you want, Olive?'

Starting point is 11:13:09 "'Chrystal now sometimes called her so. "'Well, then, Dame Fortune is in the giving mood. "'She has given your first. favorite Mr. Lyle Durwint, a fortune of a thousand pounds a year, and a little estate to match. I am so glad, for his sake, good dear Lyle. Dear Lyle, repeated Crystal, turning round with a sparkle either of pleasure or anger in her glittering eyes, but it was quenched before it reached those of olive. Well, winning is one thing, deserving is another, she continued merrily.

Starting point is 11:13:42 I could have picked out a dozen worthy, excellent young young. men, who would have better merited the blessing of a rich uncle, I, and made a better use of his money, too. Lyle would thank you if he knew. That he ought, and that he does, and that he shall do every day of his life, cried Crystal, lifting up her tall figure with a sudden haughtiness, not the less real because she laughed the while. Then with one light bound she vanished from the room. Olive, left alone with Mrs. Gwynn, would fain have taken her hand. and said as she had often done before, "'Friend, tell me all that troubles you,

Starting point is 11:14:21 all that concerns you and him.' But now a faint fear repelled her, however Harold's mother, understanding her looks, observed, "'You are anxious, my dear. Never was there such a faithful friend to me and to my son. I wish you had been here a week ago, and then you might have helped me to persuade him not to go away.' "'He is gone then, to America.'

Starting point is 11:14:45 "'America? Who mentioned America?' said Mrs. Gwynne sharply. "'Has he told you more than he told me?' "'Olive, sorely repentant, tried to soothe the natural jealousy she had aroused. "'You know well Mr. Gwyn would be sure to tell his plans to his mother. "'Only I have heard him talk of liking America, of wishing to go thither.' "'He has not gone then. He has started with his friend, Lord Arredale, to travel all through Europe. It is a pity, I think, for one of his cloth, and it shows a wandering and restless mind. I know not what has come over, my dear Herald.

Starting point is 11:15:23 Was it a sudden journey? Is it long since he went, said Olive, shading her eyes from the firelight? Only yesterday. I told him you were coming to-day, and he desired me to say how grieved he was that he thus missed you, but it was unavoidable. He had kept Lord Arendale waiting already, and it would not be courteous to delay another day. You will not mind. Oh, no, oh no! The hand was pressed down closer over the eyes. Mrs. Gwynne pursued, though I have all confidence in my son, yet I own this sudden scheme has troubled me.

Starting point is 11:16:00 His health is better. Why could he not stay at Harbury? Olive, wishing to discover if she knew anything of her son's sad secret, observed, it is a monotonous life that Mr. Gwyn leads here. "'one hardly suited for him.' "'Ah, I know,' said the mother, sighing. "'His heart is little in his calling. "'I feared so long ago. "'But it is not that which drives him abroad. "'For I told him if he still wished

Starting point is 11:16:28 "'to resign his duties to his curate, "'we would give up the parsonage and he should take pupils. "'There is a charming little house in the neighbouring village that would suit us. "'But no, he seemed to shrink from this plan too. "'He said he must go entirely away from harbory. "'And for how long?' "'I cannot tell,' he did not say. "'I should think not above a year.

Starting point is 11:16:51 "'His mother may not have many more years to spend with him.' "'And there was a little trembling of Mrs. Gwyn's mouth, "'but she continued with dignity. "'Do not imagine, Olive, that I mean to blame my son. "'He has done what he thought right. "'Against my wish or my happiness, "'he would not have done it at all. "'So I did not let him see any little pain at my son.

Starting point is 11:17:14 have given me. Twas best not. Now we will let the subject rest. But though they spoke no more, Olive speculated vainly on what had induced Herald to take this precipitate journey. She thought she had known him so thoroughly, better than anyone else could, but in him lay mysteries beyond her ken. She could only still rest on that which had comforted her in all she suffered, an entire faith in him and in his goodness. Mrs. Gwynn sat an hour or two, and then rose to return to the parsonage. We must be home before it is dark, little Ely and I. We have no one to take care of us now. Some pain was visible as she said this. When she took her grandchild by the hand and walked down

Starting point is 11:18:01 the garden, it seemed to Olive that the old lady's step was less firm than usual. Her heart sprang to Harold's mother. "'Let me walk with you a little way, Mrs. Gwynn. I am thoroughly rested now.' now, and as for coming back alone I shall not mind it." "'What a little trembling arm it is for me to lean on,' said Mrs. Gwynne, smiling, when, after some faint resistance, she had taken Olive for a companion. "'Tis nothing like my heralds, and yet I am glad to have it. I am afraid I shall often have to look to it now Harold is away. Are you willing, Olive?'

Starting point is 11:18:37 "'Quite, quite willing. Nay, very glad!' Olive went nearly all the way to Harbury. She was almost happy, walking between Harold's mother and Harold's child. But when she parted from them she felt alone, bitterly alone. Then first she began to realize the truth, that the dream of so many months was now altogether ended. It had been something, even after her sorrow began,

Starting point is 11:19:05 to feel that Harold was near, that, although days might pass without her seeing him, still he was there within a few miles. Any time, sitting wearily in her painting room, she might hear his knock at the door, or in any walk however lonely and sad, there was at least the possibility of his crossing her path, and, despite her will, causing her heart to bound with joy.

Starting point is 11:19:31 Now all these things could not be again. She went homeward along the dear old harbory road, knowing that no possible chance could make his image, appear to brighten its loneliness, that where they had so often walked, taking sweet counsel together as familiar friends, she must learn to walk alone. Perhaps, neither there nor elsewhere, would she ever walk with Harold more? In her first suffering, in her brave resolve to quit harbory, she had not thought how she should feel when all was indeed over. She had not pictured the utter blankness of a world wherein Herald was not.

Starting point is 11:20:10 The snare broken and her soul escaped. She knew not how it would beat its broken wings in the dun air, meeting nothing but the black, silent waste, ready once more to flutter helplessly down into the alluring death. Olive walked along with feet heavy and slow. In her eyes were no tears. She had wept them all away long since. She did not look up much,

Starting point is 11:20:35 but still she saw, as one sees in a dream, all that was around her. The white glittering grass, the spectral hedges, the trees laden with a light snow, silent, motionless, stretching their bare arms up to the dull sky. No, not the sky. That seemed far, far off. Between it and earth interposed a mist, so thick and cold that it blinded sight and stifled breath. She could not look up at God's dear heaven. She almost felt that through the gloom the pitying heaven could not look at her. But after a while the mist changed a little, and then Olive drew her breath, and her thoughts began to form themselves as she went along. I am now alone, quite alone. I must shut

Starting point is 11:21:22 my life up in myself, look to no one's help, yearn for no one's love. What I receive I will take thankfully, but I have no claim upon anyone in this wide world. Many pleasant friendships I have, many tender ties, but none close enough to fill the void in my heart, none to love as I could love, as I did love for many years. Oh, mother, why did you go away? Why did I love again? Lose again, always loving only to lose. Many times, she said to herself, I am alone, quite alone in the world, and at last the words seemed to strike the echo of some old remembrance, but it was one one so very dim that for a long time Olive could not give it any distinct form. At last she recollected the letter which, ten years ago, she had put away in a secret drawer

Starting point is 11:22:18 of her father's desk. Strange to say she had never thought of it since. Perhaps this was because, at the time, she had instinctively shuddered at the suggestions it gave, and so determined to banish them. And then the quick, changing scenes of life had prevented her ever recurring to the subject. Now, when all had come true, when on that desert land which, still distant, had seemed so fearful to the girl's eyes, the woman's feet already stood, she turned with an eager desire to the words which her father had written, to his daughter Olive when she was quite alone in the world. Reaching home, and hearing Crystal warbling some Italian song, Olive went at once to her own apartment, half parlor, half studio. There was a firelit, and

Starting point is 11:23:06 candles. She fastened the door that she might not be interrupted and sat down before her desk. She found some difficulty in opening the secret drawer, for the spring was rusty from long disuse, and her own fingers trembled much. When at last she held the letter in her hand, its yellow paper and faded ink struck her painfully. It seemed like suddenly coming face to face with the dead. A solemn, anxious feeling stole over her. Air breaking the seal she lingered long. She tried to call up all she remembered of her father, his face, his voice, his manners. Very dim everything was.

Starting point is 11:23:47 She had been such a mere child until he died, and the ten following years were so full of action, passion, and endurance, that they made the old time look pale and distant. She could hardly remember how she used to feel then, least of all how she used to feel towards her father. She had loved him, she knew. and her mother had loved him, I, long after love became only memory. He had loved them, too, in his quiet way. Olive thought, with tender remembrance of his kiss, on that early morning when, for the last time he had left his home. And for her mother! Often, during Mrs. Rothsay's declining

Starting point is 11:24:25 days, had she delighted to talk of the time when she was a young, happy wife, and of the dear love that Angus bore her. Something, too, she hinted of her own faults, which had once taken away that love, and something in Olive's own childish memory told her that this was true. But she repelled the thought, remembering that her father and mother were now together before God. At length, with an effort, she opened the letter. She started to see its date, the last night Captain Rothsay ever spent at home, the night which, of all others, she had striven to remember clearly, because they were all three so happy together, and he had been so kind, so loving to her mother and her. Thinking of him on this wise, with a most tender sadness, she began to read.

Starting point is 11:25:14 "'Olive Roth say, my dear child, it may be many, many years. I pray so, God knows, before you open this letter. If so, think of me as I sit writing it now, or rather as I sat an hour ago, by your mother's side with your arms round my neck. And thus thinking of me, consider what a fierce struggle I must have had to write as I am going to do, to confess what I never would have confessed while I lived, or while your mother lived. I do it because remorse is strong upon me, because I would fain that my olive, the daughter who may comfort me if I live, should, if I die, make atonement for her father's sins. I, sins. Think how I must be driven, thus to humble myself before, for my own child, to unfold to my pure daughter that,

Starting point is 11:26:06 But I will tell the tale plainly, without any exculpation or reserve. I was very young when I married Sibylla Hyde. God be my witness, I loved her then, and in my inmost heart I have loved her evermore. Remember, I say this, hear it as if I were speaking from my grave. Olive, I did love your mother. Would to heaven she had loved me, or shown her love her love? love, only a little more. Soon after our marriage I was parted from my wife for some years.

Starting point is 11:26:39 You, a girl, ought not to know, and I pray may never know, the temptations of the world and of man's own nature. I knew both, and I withstood both. I came back, and clasped my wife to the most loving and faithful heart that ever beat in a husband's breast. I write this even with tears, I, who have been so cold. But in this letter, which no I will ever see until I and your mother have lain together long years in our grave, I write as if I were speaking, not as now, but as I should speak then.

Starting point is 11:27:13 Well, between my wife and me there came a cloud. I know not whose was the fault, perhaps mine, perhaps hers, or it might be both. But there the cloud was. It hung over my home so that I could find therein no peace, no refuge. It drove me to money-getting, excitement, amusement. At last, to crime. In the West Indies there was one who had loved me, in vain. Mark you, I said in vain, but with the vehemence of her southern blood. She was a quadroon, lady, one of that miserable race, the children of planters and slaves, whose beauty is their curse, whose passion knows no law except a blind fidelity, and God forgive me, that poor wretch was faithful unto me. She followed me to England without my knowledge.

Starting point is 11:28:03 Little she had ever heard of marriage. She found no sacredness in mine. I did not love her, not with a pure heart as I loved Sibylla, but I pitied her. Sometimes I turned from my dreary home, where no eye brightened at mine, where myself and my interests were nothing, and I thought of this woman. to whom I was all the world. My daughter, Olive, if ever you be a wife and would keep your husband's love, never let these thoughts enter and pollute his mind.

Starting point is 11:28:34 Give him your whole heart and he will ask no other. Make his home sweet and pleasant to him and he will not stray from it. Bind him round with cords of love. Fast, fast. Oh, that my wife had had strength so to encircle me. But she had not, and so the end came. Olive, you are not my only child. I have no desire to palliate my sin.

Starting point is 11:29:00 Sin I know it was, heavy and deadly, against God's law, against my trusting wife, and against that hapless creature on whom I brought a whole lifetime of misery. I, not on her alone, but on that innocent being who has received from me nothing but the heritage of shame, and to whom in this world I can never make atonement. No man can. I felt this when she was born. It was a girl, too, a helpless girl. I looked on the little face, sleeping so purely, and remember that on her brow would rest through life a perpetual stain, and that I, her father, had fixed it there. Then there awoke in me a remorse which can never die, for alas, olive I have more to unfold. My remorse, like my crimes, was selfish at the root,

Starting point is 11:29:49 and I reeked it on her, who, if guilty, was less guilty than I. One day I came to her, restless and angry, unable to hide the worm that was continually gnawing at my heart. She saw it there, and her proud spirit rose. She poured on me a torrent of reproachful words. I answered them as one who had erred like me was sure to answer. Poor wretch! I reviled her as having been the cause of my misery. When I saw her in her fury, I contrasted her image with that of the pale, patient, trusting creature I had left that morning, my wife, my poor Sibylla, until, hating myself, I absolutely loathed her, the enchantress who had been my undoing. With her shrill voice yet pursuing me, I precipitately left the house.

Starting point is 11:30:39 Next day mother and child had disappeared. Whither I knew not, and I never have known, though I left no effort untried to solve a mystery which made me feel like a mother. murderer. Nevertheless, I believe that they are still alive, these wretched too. If I did not, I should almost go mad at times. Olive, have pity on your father, and hearken to what I implore. Whilst I live I shall continue this search, but I may die without having had the chance of making atonement. In that case, I entreat of my daughter Olive to stand between her father and his sin. If you have no other ties, if you never marry but live alone in the world, Seek out and protect that child.

Starting point is 11:31:22 Remember she is of your own blood. She, at least, never wronged you. In showing mercy to her you do so to me, your father, who, when you read this, will have been for years among the dead, though the evil that he caused may still remain unexpated. Oh, think that this is his voice crying out from the dust, beseeching you to absolve his memory. Save me from the horrible thought, now haunting me evermore,

Starting point is 11:31:48 that the being who owes me life may one day heap curses on her father's name. Here with enclosed you will find instructions respecting an annuity I wish paid to—to the woman. It was placed in Blanks Bank by Mr. Wilde, whom, however, I deceived concerning it. I am now old enough in the school of hypocrisy. Hitherto the amount has never been claimed. Olive, my daughter, forgive me. Judge me not harshly. I never would have asked this of you while your mother lived, your mother, whom I loved,

Starting point is 11:32:22 though I wronged her so grievously. In some things perhaps she erred towards me, but I ought to have shown her more sympathy, and have dealt gently with her tender nature, so unlike my own. May God forgive us both. God, in whose presence we shall both be when you, our daughter, read this record. And may he bless you evermore praise your loving father, Angus Rothsay. Celia Manners was her name.

Starting point is 11:32:50 Her child, she called, Crystal. It ceased, this voice, from the ten years' silent grave of Angus Rothsay. His daughter sat motionless, her fixed eyes blindly outgazing, her whole frame cold and rigid, frozen into a statue of stone. End of Chapter 41.

Starting point is 11:33:23 Chapter 42 of Oz. Olive, this Libervox recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dinah Maria Crake, Chapter 42. Riveted by an inexplicable influence, Olive had read the letter through without once pausing or blenching, read it as though it had been some strange romance of misery, not relating to herself at all. She felt unable to comprehend or realize it,

Starting point is 11:33:49 until she came to the name, Crystal. Then the whole truth burst upon her, wrapping her round with a cold horror, and, for the time, paralyzing all her faculties. When she awoke, the letter was still in her hand, and from it still there stood out clear the name which had long been a familiar word. Therefore, all this while, destiny had been leading her to work out her father's desire. The girl who had dwelt in her household for months, whom she had tried to love and generously sought to guide, was her sister. but what a chaos of horror was revealed by this discovery olive's first thought was of her mother who had showered kindness on this child of shame who dying had unconsciously charged her to take care of crystal

Starting point is 11:34:39 with a natural revulsion of feeling olive thrust the letter from her its touch seemed to pollute her fingers oh my mother my poor wronged mother well for you that you never lived to see this day "'You so good, so loving, so faithfully remembering him even to the last. "'But I, I have lived to shrink with abhorrence from the memory of my own father.' "'Suddenly she stopped, aghast at thinking that she was thus speaking of the dead, "'the dead from whom her own life had sprung. "'I am bewildered,' she murmured. "'Heaven help me. "'I know not what I say or do.'

Starting point is 11:35:19 "'And Olive fell on her knees. "'She had no words to pray. with, but in such time of agony all her thoughts were prayers. After a while these calmed her, and made her strong to endure one more trial, different from, perhaps even more awful than all the rest. Much sorrow had been her life's portion, but never until this hour had Olive Rothesay stood face to face with crime. She had now to learn the crowning lesson of virtue, how to deal with vice, not by turning away in saintly pride, but by boldly confronting it, with an eye stern in purity, yet melting in compassion, remembering ever, how all the souls that were

Starting point is 11:36:04 were forfeit once, and he who might the vantage best have took, found out the remedy. Angus Rothsay's daughter read over once more the record of his sin. In so doing she was struck with the depth of that remorse which, to secure a future expiation, threw aside pride, reserve, and shame. How awful must have been the repentance which had impelled such a confession, and driven a father to humble himself in the dust before his own child. She seemed to hear, rising from the long-closed grave, that mournful beseeching cry, atone my sin. It silenced even the voice of her mother's wrongs. This duty then remained, to fulfill which, as it would appear, Olive had been left alone

Starting point is 11:36:51 on earth. The call seemed like that of fate. Nay, she half-shuttered to think of the almost supernatural chance, which had arranged everything before her and made her course so plain. But it had often happened so. Her life appeared, as some lives do, all woven about with mysteries, threads of guidance, first unseen, and then distinctly traced, forcing on the mind that sweet sense of invisible ministry which soothes all suffering, and causes a childlike rest on the omnipotence, which out of all evil continually evolves good. With this thought there dawned upon Olive a solemn sense of calm, to lay down this world's crown of joys and to take up its cross, no longer to be ministered unto but to minister.

Starting point is 11:37:36 This was to be her portion henceforth, and with this holy work was her lonely life to be filled. I will do it, she cried. Oh, my poor father, may God have forgiven you as my mother would, and as I now do, "'It is not mine to judge your sin. "'Enough for me is the duty to atone it. "'How can this be best fulfilled?' "'She sat long in silence, mournfully pondering. "'She tried to collect every scattered link of memory

Starting point is 11:38:04 "'respecting what she had heard of Crystal's mother. "'For such she now knew, "'was the woman who, for the time, "'had once strongly excited her girlish imagination. "'That visit and its incidents "'now came vividly back upon her memory. "'Much there was which made her naturally revolt from the thought of this unhappy creature. How could it be otherwise with her mother's

Starting point is 11:38:25 child? Still, amidst all, she was touched by the love of this other most wretched mother, who, living and dying, had renounced her maternal claim, and impressed upon her daughter's mind a feigned story, rather than let the brand of illegitimate birth rest upon the poor innocent. Suddenly she heard from the next room Crystal's happy, unconscious voice, singing merrily, "'My sister,' Olive gasped. "'She is my sister, my father's child. "'And there came upon her, "'in a flood of mingled compassion and fear,

Starting point is 11:39:00 "'all that Crystal would feel when she came to know the truth. "'Chrystal, so proud of her birth, her position, "'whose haughty nature, inherited from both father and mother, "'had once struggled wrathfully against Olive's mild control. "'Such a blow as this would either crush her to the earth "'or rousing up the dead. demon in her drive her to desperation. Thinking thus, Olive forgot everything in pity for the hapless girl, everything, save an awestruck sense of the crime, which, as its necessary consequence,

Starting point is 11:39:33 entailed such misery from generation to generation. It seemed most strange that Crystal had lived for so many years, cherishing her blind belief, nay, not even seeking to investigate it when it lay in her power. For since the day she returned from France, she had never questioned miss vanbrough nor alluded to the subject of her parentage such indifference seemed incredible and could only be accounted for by crystal's light careless nature her haughtiness or her utter ignorance of the world what was olive to do was she to reveal the truth and thus blast for ever this dawning life so full of hope was her hand to place the stigma of shame on the brow of this young creature a girl too there might come a time when some proud, honorable man, however loving, would scruple to take to his bosom as a wife, one whose mother had never owned that name. But then, was Olive to fix on herself the perpetual burden of this secret, the continual dread of its betrayal, the doubt lest one day, chance might bring it to

Starting point is 11:40:38 Crystal's knowledge, perhaps when the girl would no longer be shielded by a sister's protection, or comforted by a sister's love? While she struggled in this conflict, she heard a voice at the door. "'Olive! Olive!' the tone was more affectionate than usual. "'Are you never coming? I am quite tired of being alone. Do let me into the studio.' Olive sprang to her desk and hid the letter therein. Then, without speaking, she had no power to speak. She mechanically unlocked the door. "'Well, I am glad to get you at last,' cried Crystal merrily. "'I thought you were going to spend the night here. But what is the matter? You are as white as a ghost.' You can't look me in the face.

Starting point is 11:41:22 Why, one would almost imagine you had been planning a murder, and I was the innocent, unconscious victim, as the novels have it. You, a victim, cried Olive, in great agitation. But by an almost superhuman effort she repressed it, and added, quietly, Crystal, my dear, don't mind me, it is nothing, only I feel ill, excited. Why, what have you been doing?

Starting point is 11:41:47 "'Allive instinctively answered the truth. "'I have been sitting here alone, thinking of old times, reading old letters. "'Whose? Nay, but I will know,' answered Crystal, "'half playfully, half in earnest, as though there was some distrust in her mind. "'It was my father's, my poor fathers. "'Is that all? Oh, then don't vex yourself about any old father dead and gone. "'I wouldn't, though, to be sure I never had the chance. little I ever knew or cared about mine.

Starting point is 11:42:19 Olive turned away and was silent, but Crystal, who seemed, for some reason best known to herself, to be in a particularly unreserved and benignant humor, said kindly, "'You poor little trembling thing! How ill you have made yourself! You can scarcely stand alone! Give me your hands, and I'll help you to the sofa.'

Starting point is 11:42:38 But Olive shrank as if there had been a sting in the slender fingers which lay on her arm. She looked at them, circumstance, long forgotten, rushed back upon her memory, something she had noticed to her mother the first night that the girl came home. Tracing the beautiful hereditary mold of the Rothsay line, she now knew why Crystal's hand was like her own fathers. A shiver of instinctive repugnance came over her, and then the mysterious voice of kindred blood awoke in her heart. She took and passionately clasped that hand, the hand of her sister. Oh, Crystal! Let us love one another, we two who have no other tie left to us on earth.

Starting point is 11:43:20 But Crystal was rarely in a pathetic mood. She only shrugged her shoulders, and then stroked Olive's arm with a patronizing air. Come, your journey has been too much for you, and you had no business to wander off that way with Mrs. Gwynn. You shall lie down and rest a little and then go to bed. But Olive was afraid of night and its solitude. She knew there was no slumber for her. When she was a little recovered, feeling unable to talk, she asked Crystal to read aloud. The other looked annoyed.

Starting point is 11:43:50 "'Pleasant! To be a mere lady's companion and reader! Miss Rothsey forgets who I am, I think,' muttered she, though apparently not meaning Olive to hear. But Olive did hear, and shuddered at the hearing. Miss Manners carelessly took up the newspaper and read the first paragraph which caught her eye. It was one of those mournful episodes which are sometimes revealed at the London police courts. A young girl, a lady swindler, had been brought up for trial there. In her defense came out

Starting point is 11:44:21 the story of a life, cradled in shame, nurtured in vice, and only working out its helpless destiny, that of a rich man's deserted illegitimate child. The report added that, the convict was led from the dock in a state of violent excitement, calling down curses on her parents, but especially on her father, who, she said, had cruelly forsaken her mother. She ended by exclaiming that it was to him she herself owed all her life of misery, and that her blood was upon his head. "'It was upon his head,' burst forth Crystal, whose sympathies, as by some fatal instinct, seemed attracted by a case like this. If I had been that girl, I would have hunted my vile father through the world. While he lived I would have heaped my miseries in his path,

Starting point is 11:45:08 that everywhere they might torture and shame him. When he died, I would have trampled on his grave and cursed him. She stood up, her eyes flashing, her hands clenched in one of those paroxysms which to her came so rarely, but when roused were terrible to witness. Her mother's soul was in the girl. Olive saw it, and from that hour knew that, whatever it cost her, the secret of Crystal's birth must be buried in her own breast forevermore.

Starting point is 11:45:37 Most faithfully Miss Rothsay kept her vow, but it entailed upon her the necessity of changing her whole plans for the future. For some inexplicable reason, Crystal refused to go and live with her in Edinburgh, or, in fact, to leave Farnwood at all. Therefore, Olive's despairing wish to escape from Harboury, and all its bitter associations, was entirely frustrated. It would be hard to say whether she lamented or rejoiced at this. The brave resolve had cost her much, yet she scarcely regained. regretted that it would not be fulfilled. There was a secret sweetness in living near Harbury, in stealing, as it were, into a daughter's place, beside the mother of him she still so fervently loved. But thinking of him she did not suffer now. For all great trials there is an unseen compensation,

Starting point is 11:46:25 and this last shock, with the change it had wrought, made her past sorrows grow dim. Life became sweeter to her, for it was filled with a new and holy interest. It could be so filled, she found, even when love had come and vanished, and only duty remained. She turned from all repining thoughts, and tried to make for herself a peaceful nest in her little home, and thither, above all, she desired to all lure and to keep, with all gentle wiles of love, her sister, her sister. Often, yearning for kindred ties, she longed to fall on Crystal's neck and call her by that tender name, but she knew it could never be, and her heart had been too long-schooled into patience, to murmur because in every human tie this seemed to be

Starting point is 11:47:12 perpetually her doom, that, save one who was gone, none upon earth had ever loved her as much as she loved them. Harold Gwynn wrote frequently from Rome, but only to his mother. However, he always mentioned Miss Rothesay, and kindly. Once, when Mrs. Gwyn was unable to write herself, she asked Olive to take her place and indulge Harold with a letter. He will be so glad, you know, I think of all his friends there is none whom my son regards more warmly than you, said the mother. And Olive could not refuse. Why, indeed, should she feel reluctance? He had never been her lover. She had no right to feel wounded or angry at his silence. Certainly she would write. She did so. It was a quiet, friendly letter, making no reference to the past, expressing no regret, no pain.

Starting point is 11:48:01 It was scarcely like the earnest letters which she had once written to him. That time was past. She tried to make it an epistle as from an ordinary acquaintance, easy and pleasant, full of everything likely to amuse him. She knew he would never dream how it was written, with a cold, trembling hand and throbbing heart, its smooth sentences broken by pauses of burning, blinding tears. She said little about herself or her own affairs, save to ask that, being in Rome, he would contrive to find out the Vanbras, of whom she had heard nothing for a long time. writing, she paused a moment to think whether she should not apologize for giving him this trouble,

Starting point is 11:48:41 but then she remembered his words, almost the last she had heard him utter, that she must always consider him as a friend and brother. I will do so, she murmured. I will not doubt him, or his true regard for me. It is all he can give, and while he gives me that, I shall endure life contentedly, even unto the end. End of Chapter 42 Chapter 43 of Olive

Starting point is 11:49:13 This Libervox recording is in the public domain Olive by Dinah Maria Crake Chapter 43 It was midwinter before the inhabitants of the Del were visited by their friend Lyle Derwent now grown a rich and important personage Olive rather regretted his apparent neglect for it grieved her to suspect a change in anyone

Starting point is 11:49:35 whom she regarded "'Chrystal only mocked the while, at least in outside show. "'Miss Rothsay did not see with what eagerness the girl listened to every sound, "'nor how every morning, fair and foul, "'she would restlessly start to walk up the Harbury Road and meet the Daily Post. "'It was during one of these absences of hers that Lyle made his appearance. "'Aulive was sitting in her painting-room, arranging the contents of her desk. "'She was just musing, for the hundredth time, over her father's letter,

Starting point is 11:50:04 considering whether or not she should destroy it, lest any unforeseen chance, her own death, for instance, might bring the awful secret to Crystal's knowledge. Lyle's entrance startled her, and she hastily thrust the letter within the desk. Consequently, her manner was rather fluttered, and her greeting scarcely so cordial as she would have wished it to be. The infection apparently communicated itself to her visitor, for he sat down, looking agitated and uncomfortable. "'You are not angry with me for staying so long away, are you, Miss Rothsay?' said Lyle, when he had received her congratulations on his recent acquisitions. "'You don't think this change in fortune will make any change in my heart towards you.'

Starting point is 11:50:46 Olive half smiled at his sentimental way of putting the matter, but it was the young man's peculiarity, so she frankly assured him that she had never doubted his regard towards her, at which poor Lyle fell into ecstasies of delight. They had a long talk together about his prospects, in all of which Olive took a warm and lively interest. He told her of his new house and grounds, of his plan of life, which seemed very Arcadian and poetical indeed. But he was a simple-minded, warm-hearted youth, and Miss Rothsay listened with pleasure to all that he said. It did her good to see that there was a little happiness to be found in the world. "'You have drawn the sweetest possible picture of rural felicity,' she said, smiling. "'I earnestly hope you may realize it,

Starting point is 11:51:32 my dear Lyle. But I suppose one must not call you so anymore, since you are now Mr. Derwent of Hollywood. Oh, no, call me Lyle, nothing but Lyle. It sounds so sweet from your lips. It always did, even when I was a little boy. I am afraid I have treated you quite like a boy until now, but you must not mind it, for the sake of old times. Do you remember them still? asked Lyle, a tone of deeper earnestness stealing through his affectations of sentiment. Do you remember how I was your little knight, and used to say I loved you better than all the world. I do indeed. It was an amusing rehearsal of what you will begin to enact in reality some of these days. You will make a most poetical lover. Do you think so? Oh, Miss Rothsay, do you really think so?

Starting point is 11:52:20 And then his eagerness subsided into vivid blushes, which really caused olive pain. She began to fear that, unwittingly, she had been playing on some tender string, and that there was more earnest feeling in Lyle than she had ever dreamed of. She would not for the world have jested thus had she thought there was any real attachment in the case. So, a good deal touched and interested, she began to talk to him in her own quiet, affectionate way. You must not mistake me, Lyle. You must not think I am laughing at you. But I did not know that you had ever considered these things, though there is plenty of time, as you are only just twenty-one. Tell me candidly, You know you may. Do you think you are ever seriously in love? It is very strange for you to ask me these questions.

Starting point is 11:53:08 Then do not answer them. Forgive me. I only spoke from the desire I have to see you happy. You who are so mingled with many recollections. You poor Sarah's brother and my own little favorite in olden time." Anne speaking in a subdued and tender voice, Olive held out her hand to Lyle. He snatched it eagerly. How I love you. to hear you speak thus. Oh, if I could but tell you all. You may indeed, said Olive gently. I am sure, my dear Lyle, you can trust me. Tell me the whole story. The story of a dream I had, all my boyhood through, of a beautiful, noble creature whom I reverenced admired, and at last have dared to love. Lyle answered, in much agitation. Olive felt quite sorry for him.

Starting point is 11:53:56 I did not expect this, she said. You poetic dreamers have to be. have so many light fancies. My poor Lyle, is it indeed so? You whom I should have thought would choose a new idol every month! Have you all this while been seriously and heartily in love, and with one girl only? Are you quite sure it was but one?' And she half smiled. He seemed now more confused than ever. "'One cannot but speak truth to you,' he murmured. "'You make me tell you everything, whether I will or no. And if I did not, you might hear it from someone else, and that would make me very miserable. Well, what was it? That though I never

Starting point is 11:54:35 loved but this my beautiful lady, once, only once, for a very little while, I assure you, I was half disposed to like someone else whom you know. Olive thought a minute, and then said, very seriously, was it Crystal Manors? It was. She led me into it, and then she teased me out of it, but indeed it was not love, only a mere passing fancy. "'Did you tell her of your feelings?' "'Only in some foolish verses which she laughed at. "'You should not have done that. "'It is very wicked to make any pretense about love.

Starting point is 11:55:09 "'Oh, dearest Miss Rothsay, you are not angry with me.' "'Whatever my folly, you must know well that there is but one woman in the world "'whom I ever truly loved, whom I do love most passionately. "'It is yourself.' "'Aulive looked up in blank astonishment. She almost thought that sentiment had driven him crazy, but he went on with an earnestness that could not be mistaken, though it was mingled with some extravagance. All the good that is in me I learned from you when I was a little boy.

Starting point is 11:55:41 I thought you an angel even then, and used to dream about you for hours. When I grew older, I made you an idol. All the poetry I ever wrote was about you, your golden hair and your sweet eyes. You seemed to me then and you seemed now the most beautiful creature in the whole world. world. Lyle, you are mocking me, said Olive, sadly. Mocking you. It is very cruel to tell me so, and he turned away with an expression of deep pain. Olive began to wake from the bewilderment into which his words had thrown her, but she could not realize the possibility of Lyle Durwins loving her, his senior by some years, many years older than he in heart, pale, worn,

Starting point is 11:56:25 deformed, for the sense of personal defect which had haunted her throughout her life was present still. But when she looked again at Lyle, she regretted having spoken to him so harshly. Forgive me, she said. All this is so strange. You cannot really mean it. It is utterly impossible that you can love me. I am old compared with you. I have no beauty, nay, even more than that. Here she paused, and her color sensitively rose. "'I know what you would say,' quickly added the young man, "'but I think nothing of it, nothing. "'To me you are, as I said, like an angel.

Starting point is 11:57:03 "'I have come here to-day to tell you so, "'to ask you to share my riches and teach me to deserve them. "'Dearest, Miss Roth say, "'be not only my friend, but my wife.' "'There was no doubting him now. "'The strong passion within gave him dignity and manhood. "'Aulive scarcely recognized in the earnest wooer before her, the posy raving blushing sentimental lyle great pain came over her she had never dreamed of one trial that of being loved by another as hopelessly as she herself loved

Starting point is 11:57:36 "'You do not answer, Miss Roth say. What does your silence mean? That I have presumed too much. You think me a boy, a foolish, romantic boy, but I can love you for all that with my whole heart and soul. O Laya, why talk to me in this way? You do not know how deeply it grieves me.' "'It grieves you. You do not love me, then.' "'Well,' he added, sighing, "'I could hardly expect it at once. But you will grant me time. You will let me try to prove myself worthy of you, you will give me hope. Olive shook her head mournfully. Lyle, dear Lyle, forget all this. It is a mere dream. It will pass, I know it will. You will choose some young girl who is suited for you, and to whom you will make a good and happy husband. Lyle turned very pale. That means to say that you

Starting point is 11:58:28 think me unworthy to be yours. No, no, I did not say you were unworthy. You are dear to me. You always were, not in that way. It goes to my very heart to inflict even a momentary pain, but I cannot, cannot marry you. Much agitated Olive hid her face. Lyle moved away to the other end of the room. Perhaps, with manhood's love was also dawning manhood's pride. There must be some reason for this, he said at last. If I am dear to you, though ever so little, a stronger love for me might come in time. Will it be so? No, never. Are you quite sure? Quite sure. Perhaps I am too late, he continued bitterly. You may already love someone else. Tell me, I have a right to know. She blushed crimson, and then arose, not without dignity. I think, Lyle, you go too far. We will cease this conversation.

Starting point is 11:59:27 Forgive me, forgive me, cried Lyle, melted at once and humbled, too. I will ask no more. I do not wish to hear. It is misery enough for me to know that you can never be mine, that I must not love you any more. But you may regard me tenderly still. You may learn to feel for me as a sister, an elder sister. That is the fittest relation between us. You yourself will think so in time. And Olive truly believed what she said. Perhaps she judged him rightly, that this passion was indeed only a boyish romance, such as most men have in their youth, which fades painlessly in the realities of after years. But now, at least, it was most deep and sincere. As Miss Rothsay spoke, once more as in his childish days Lyle threw himself at her feet, taking both her hands

Starting point is 12:00:18 and looking up in her face with the wildest adoration. I must, must worship you still. I always shall. You are so good, so pure. I look up to you as you as. to some saint. I was mad to think of you in any other way. But you will not forget me. You will guide and counsel me always, only if you should be taken away from me, if you should marry. I shall never marry, said Olive, uttering the words she had uttered many a time, but never more solemnly than now. Lyle regarded her for a long and breathless space, and then laying his head on her knees he wept like a child. That moment, at the suddenly opened door there stood Crystal manners, like a vision she came and passed. Lyle never saw her at all, but Olive did,

Starting point is 12:01:06 and when the young man had departed amidst all her own agitation, there flashed before her, as it were an omen of some woe to come, that livid face lit with its eyes of fire. Not long had Olive to ponder, for the door once more opened and Crystal came in. Her hair had all fallen down. Her eyes had the same intense glare. Her bonnet and shawl were still hanging on her arm. She flung them aside and stood in the doorway. Miss Rothsay, I wish to speak with you, and that no one may interrupt us, I will do this. She bolted and locked the door, and then clenched her fingers over the key, as if it had been a living thing for her to crush. Olive sat utterly confounded, for in her sister she saw two likenesses, one of the woman who

Starting point is 12:01:53 who had once shrieked after her the name of Rothsay, the other, that of her own father in his rare moments of passion, as she had seen him the night he had called her by that appropriate word, which had planted the sense of personal humiliation in her heart for life. Crystal walked up to her. Now tell me, for I will know, what has passed between you and him who just now went hence. Lyle Derwent? Yes, repeat every word, every word! "'Why so? You are not acting kindly towards me,' said Olive, trying to resume her wonted dignity, but still speaking in a placable, quiet tone. "'My dear Crystal, you are younger than I, and have scarcely a right to question me thus.'

Starting point is 12:02:39 "'Right? When it comes to that, where is yours? How dare you suffer Lyle Durwint to kneel at your feet? How dare you, I say?' "'Chrystal, hush! I will not. I will speak. I wish every word, were a dagger to stab you, wicked, wicked woman, who have come between me and my lover, for he is my lover, and I love him. You love him? You stole him from me. You bewitched him with your vile flatteries. How else could he have turned from me to you? And lifting her graceful, majestic height, she looked contemptuously on poor shrinking Olive. I, as her father, the father of both, had done before. Olive remembered the time well. For a moment,

Starting point is 12:03:23 moment a sense of cruel wrong pressed down her compassion, but it rose again. Who was most injured, most unhappy? She, or the young creature who stood before her, shaken by the storm of rage. She stretched out her hands entreatingly. Crystal, do listen. Indeed, indeed, I am innocent. I shall never marry that poor boy, never. I have just told him so. He has asked you, then, and the girl almost gnashed her teeth. Then he has deceived me. No, I will not believe that. It is you who are deceiving me now. If he loved you, you were sure to love him. What am I to do? How am I to convince you? How hard this is? Hard? What then must it be to me? You did not think this passion was in me, did you? You judged me by that meek, cold-blooded heart of yours.

Starting point is 12:04:14 But mine is all burning, burning! Woe be to those who kindled the fire! She began to walk to and fro, sweeping past Olive with angry strides. She looked, from head to foot, her mother's child, hate and love, melting and mingling together, flashed from her black southern eyes. But in the close mouth there was an iron will, inherited with her northern blood. Suddenly she stopped and confronted Olive. You consider me a mere girl, but I learned to be a woman early. I had need.

Starting point is 12:04:47 "'Poor child! Poor child! "'How dare you pity me! You think I am dying for love, do you? But no, it is pride, only pride. "'Why did I not always scorn that pitiful boy? I did once, and he knows it. And afterwards, because there was no one else to care for, and I was lonely and wanted a home, haughty and wanted a position, I have humbled myself thus. Then, Crystal, if you never did really love him—' "'Who told you that? Not I,' she cried, "'her broken and contradictory speech revealing the chaos of her mind. "'I say I did love him, more than you with your cold prudence could ever dream of.

Starting point is 12:05:29 "'What could such and one as you know about love? "'Yet you have taken him from me?' "'I tell you no. "'Never till this day did he breathe one word of love to me. "'I can show you his letters.' "'Letters. He wrote to you then, and I never knew it. "'Oh, how I hate you! could kill you where you stand."

Starting point is 12:05:48 She went to the open desk and began searching there with trembling hands. "'What? What are you going to do?' cried Olive, with sudden terror. "'To take his letters and read them. I do it in your presence, for I am no dishonorable thief, but I will know everything. You are in my power. You need not stir or shriek.' But Olive did shriek, for she saw that Crystal's hand already touched the one fatal letter. A hope there was that she might pass it by. Uncomely. conscious that it contained her doom. But no, her eye had been attracted by her own name, mentioned in the postscript. "'More wicked devices against me!' cried the girl passionately.

Starting point is 12:06:27 "'But I will find out this plot, too.' And she began to unfolds the paper. "'The letter! Give me that letter! Oh, Crystal, for the happiness of your whole life I charge you! I implore you not to read it!' cried Olive, springing forward and catching her arm. but Crystal thrust her back with violence. "'Tis something you wish to hide from me, but I defy you. I will read.' Nevertheless, in the confusion of her mind, she could not at once find the passage where she had seen her own name. She began, and read the letter all through, though without a change of countenance until she reached the end. Then the change was so awful, none could be like it,

Starting point is 12:07:09 save that left by death on the human face. Her arms fell paralyzed, and she, and she was and she staggered dizzily against the wall. Trembling, Olive crept up and touched her. Crystal recoiled and stamped on the ground, crying, "'It is all a lie, a hideous lie! You have forged it, to shame me in the eyes of my lover!' "'Not so,' said Olive most tenderly. "'No one in the wide world knows this but we too.

Starting point is 12:07:37 No one ever shall know it. Oh, would that you had listened to me! Then I should still have kept the secret even from you. "'My sister! My poor sister! Sister! And you are his child, his lawful child, while I—' But you shall not live to taunt me. I will kill you that you may go to your father and mine, and tell him that I cursed him in his grave. As she spoke, she wreathed her arms round Olive's slight frame, but the deadly embrace was such as never sister gave. With the marvelous strength of fury, she lifted her from the floor and dashed her down again. In falling, Olive's forehead struck against

Starting point is 12:08:15 the marble chimney-piece, and she lay stunned and insensible on the hearth. Crystal looked at her sister for a moment, without pity or remorse, but in motionless horror. Then she unlocked the door and fled. End of Chapter 43 Chapter 44 of Olive. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dinah Maria Crake Chapter 44 When Olive returned to consciousness she was lying on her own bed, the same where on her mother had died. Olive almost thought that she herself had died too, so still lay the shadows of the white curtains, cast by the one faint night-lamp that was hidden on the floor. She breathed heavily in a kind of

Starting point is 12:09:10 sigh, and then she was aware of some watcher close by, who said softly, Are you sleeping, my dear Olive? In her confused fancy, the voice seemed to her like Harold's. She imagined that she was dead, and that he was sitting beside her beer, sorrowfully, perhaps even in tenderness, as he might look on her then. So strong was the delusion that she feebly uttered his name. It is Harold's mother, my dear. Were you dreaming about my son?

Starting point is 12:09:40 Olive was far too ill to have any feelings of self-betrayal or shame, nor was there any consecutive memory in her exhausted mind. She only stretched out her hands to Harold's mother with a sense of refuge and peace. Take care of me, oh, take care of me, she murmured, and as she felt herself drawn lovingly to that warm breast, the breast where Harold had once lain, she could there have slept herself into painless death, wherein the only consciousness was this one thought of him.

Starting point is 12:10:10 But after an hour or two, the life within her grew stronger, and she began to consider what had happened. A horrible doubt came of something she had to hide. Tell me, do tell me, Mrs. Gwynn. Have I said anything in my sleep? Don't mind it, whatever it be. I am ill, you know. Yes, you have been ill for some days.

Starting point is 12:10:30 I have been nursing you. And what has happened in this house the while? Oh, where is Crystal? Poor Crystal! There was a frown on Mrs. Gwyn's countenance, a frown so stern that it brought back to Olive's memory all that had befallen. Earnestly regarding her, she said,

Starting point is 12:10:48 "'Something has happened, something awful. How much of it do you know?' "'Everything. But, Olive, we must not talk.' "'I must not be left to think, or I should lose my senses again. Therefore let me hear all that you have found out, I entreat you.' Mrs. Gwynn saw she had best comply, for there was still a piteous bewilderment in Olive's look.

Starting point is 12:11:10 "'Lie still,' she said, and I will tell you. I came to this house when that miserable girl was rushing from it. I brought her back. I controlled her, as I have ere now controlled passions as wild as hers, though she is almost a demon. Hush, hush, murmured Olive. She told me everything, but all is safe, for I have possession of the letter,

Starting point is 12:11:32 and I have nursed you myself alone. Oh, how good, how wise, how faithful you have been! I would have done all and more for your sake, Olive, and for the sake of your unhappy father. But, oh, that ever I should hear this of Angus Rothsay! Alas, it is a sinful, sinful world. Never knew I one truly good man, save my son Harold. The mention of this name fell on Olive's wandering thoughts like Balm,

Starting point is 12:12:00 turning her mind from the horror she had passed through. Besides, from her state of exhaustion, everything was growing dim and indistinct to her mind. You shall tell me more another time, she said. and then, sinking back on her pillow, still holding fast the hand of Harold's mother, she lay and slept till morning. When, in the daylight, she recovered a little more, Mrs. Gwynn told her all that had happened. From the moment that Crystal saw her sister carried upstairs, dead, as it were, her passion ceased,

Starting point is 12:12:32 but she exhibited neither contrition nor alarm. She went and locked herself up in her chamber from whence she had never stirred. She let no one enter except Mrs. Gwynn, who seemed to have over her that strong rule which was instinctive in such a woman. She it was who brought Crystal her meals and compelled her to take them, or else in her sullen misery the girl would, as she threatened, have starved herself to death. And though many a stormy contest arose between the two, when Mrs. Gwyn, stern in her justice, began to reprove and condemn, still she ever conquered so far as to leave Crystal silent, if not subdued.

Starting point is 12:13:10 Subdued she was not. Night after night, when Olive was recovering, they heard her pacing up and down her chamber, sometimes even until dawn. A little her spirit had been crushed, Mrs. Gwynn thought, when there was hanging over her what might become the guilt of murder. But as soon as Olive's danger passed, it again rose.

Starting point is 12:13:29 No commands, no persuasions, could induce Crystal to visit her sister, though the latter entreated it daily, longing for the meeting and reconciliation. But in illness there is great peace sometimes, especially after a long mental struggle. In the dreamy quiet of her sick-room, all things belonging to the world without,

Starting point is 12:13:50 all cares, all sufferings, grew dim to olive. Aye, even her love. It became sanctified, as though it had been an affection beyond the grave. She lay for hours together, thinking of Herald, of all that had passed between them, of his goodness, his tender friendship, of hers to him, more faithful than he would ever know. It was very sweet, too, to be nursed so tenderly by Harold's mother, to feel that there was

Starting point is 12:14:17 growing between them a bond like that of parent and child. Often Mrs. Gwynn even said so, wishing that in her old age she could have a daughter like Olive, and now and then, when Olive did not see, she stole a penetrating glance as if to observe how her words were received. One day when Olive was just able to sit up, and looked in her white drapery and close cap, so like her lost mother, Mrs. Gwynn entered with letters. Olive grew pale. To her fancy every letter that came to Harbury could only be from Rome. Good tidings, my dear, tidings from Harold, but you are trembling.

Starting point is 12:14:55 Everything sudden startles me now. I am very weak, I fear, murmured Olive, but you look so pleased. All is well with him? All is quite well. has written me a long letter, and here is one for you. For me! The poor pale face lighted up, and the hand was eagerly stretched out, but when she held the letter she could not open it for trembling. In her feebleness, all power of self-control banished. She looked wistfully at Harold's writing, and burst

Starting point is 12:15:24 into tears. Mrs. Gwynne regarded Olive for a moment, as his mother naturally would, jealous over her own claim, yet not blaming the one whose only blame was, loving where she did, but she said nothing, or in any way betrayed the secret she had learnt. Perhaps, after all, she was proud that her son should be so truly loved, and by such a woman. Leaning over olive, she soothed her with great tenderness. You are indeed too weak to hear anything of the world without. I ought to have taken better care of you, my dear child. "'Nay, never mind because you gave way a little,' she said, seeing the burning blushes

Starting point is 12:16:03 that rose one after the other in Olive's face. It was quite natural. The most trifling thing must agitate one who has been so very, very ill. Come, will you read your letter, or shall I put it by till you are stronger?' "'No, no, I should like to read it. He is very good to write to me, very good indeed. I felt his kindness the more from being ill. That is why it made me weep,' said Olive faintly. Certainly, my dear, but I will leave you now, for I have not yet read mine. I am sure Harold would be pleased to know how glad we both are to hear from him, said Mrs. Gwynn, with a light but kindly emphasis.

Starting point is 12:16:41 And then Olive was left alone. Oh, that Harold had seen her as she sat! Oh, that he had heard her broken words of thankful joy when she read of his welfare! Then he might at last have felt what blessedness it was to be so loved, to reign like a throned king in a pure woman's heart, where no man had ever reigned before, and none ever would until that heart was dust. Harold wrote much as he had always done, perhaps a little more reservedly, and with a greater degree of measured kindliness.

Starting point is 12:17:13 He took care to answer every portion of Olive's letter, but wrote little about himself or his own feelings. He had not been able to find out the Vanbras, he said, though he would try every possible means of so doing before he left Rome for Paris. Miss Rothsey must always use his services in everything, when needed, he said, nor forget how much he was her sincere and faithful friend. He is that, and will be always. I am content, quite content, and she gazed down, calmly smiling at the letter on her knee. This news from Rome seemed to have given her new life. Hour by hour she grew rapidly better, and the peace in her own heart made it the more to

Starting point is 12:17:54 yearn over her unhappy sister, who, if sinning, had been sinned against, and who, if she erred much, must bitterly suffer, too. Tell Crystal I long to see her, she said. Tomorrow I shall be quite strong, I think, and then I will go to her room myself, and never quit her until we are reconciled. But Crystal declared no power should induce her to meet Olive more. Alas, what are we to do? cried Olive sorrowfully. And the whole night, during which she was disturbed by the restless sounds in Crystal's room, she lay awake, planning numberless, compassionate devices to soothe and win over this obdurate heart. Something told her they would not be in vain. Love rarely is. When it was almost morning,

Starting point is 12:18:40 she peacefully fell asleep. It was late when she awoke, and then the house, usually so quiet, seemed all astir. Hasty feet were passing in all directions, and Mrs. Gwynne's voice, sharpened and agitated, was heard in the next room. Very soon she stood by Olive's bed and told her troubled tale. Crystal had fled. Air anyone had risen, whilst the whole household must have been asleep, she had affected her escape. It was evidently done with the greatest ingenuity and forethought. Her door was still bolted, and she had apparently descended from the window, which was very low, and made accessible by an espalier. But the flight, thus secretly, accomplished, had doubtless been long arranged and provided for, since all her money and ornaments,

Starting point is 12:19:27 together with most of her attire, had likewise disappeared. In whatever way the scheme had been planned and executed, the fact was plain that it had thoroughly succeeded. Crystal was gone, whither there was at first not a single clue to tell. But when afterwards her room was searched, they found a letter addressed to Miss Rothsay. It ran thus. I would have killed myself days since, but that I know in so doing I should release you from a burden and a pang which I wish to last your life as it must mine. Also, had I died, I might have gone to hell, and there met him whom I hate, my wicked, wicked father. Therefore I would not die. But I will not stay to be tyrannized over or insulted by hypocritical pity. I will neither eat your bread, nor

Starting point is 12:20:16 live upon the cowardly charity of the man who is dead. I intend to work for my own maintenance, most likely to offer myself as a teacher in the school where I was brought up. I tell you this plainly, though I tell you at the same time that if you dare to seek me there or drag me thence, but no, you will be glad to be freed from me forever. One thing only I regret, that injustice to my own mother, I must no longer think tenderly of yours. For yourself all is ended between us. Pardon I neither ask nor grant. I only say farewell. Crystal Manors." The letter was afterwards apparently reopened, and a hasty post-script added, "'Tell Lyle Derwent that I have gone forever, or still better, that I am dead. But if you

Starting point is 12:21:05 dare to tell him anything more, I will hunt you through the world, but I will be revenged.' Mrs. Gwynne read this letter aloud. It awoke in the stern, upright, God-fearing Scotswoman, less of pity than a solemn sense of retributive justice, which she could scarcely repress, even though it involved the condemnation of him whose memory was mingled with the memories of her youth. But Olive, more gentle, tried to wash away her dead father's guilt with tears, and for her living sister she offered unto heaven that beseeching never offered in vain, A Pure Heart's Humble Prayers End of Chapter 44

Starting point is 12:21:44 Chapter 45 of Olive This is a Librevox recording All Libravox recordings are in the public domain Olive by Dinah Maria Crake Chapter 45 Many a consultation was held between Mrs. Gwynn and Olive As to what must be done concerning that hapless child for little more than a child she was in years, though her miserable destiny had nurtured in her

Starting point is 12:22:18 so much of woman's suffering and more than woman's sin. Yet still, when Olive read the reference to Mrs. Rothsay, she thought there might yet be a lingering angel sitting in poor Crystal's heart. Oh, that someone could seek her out and save her, someone who would rule and yet soothe her, who, coming from us, should not be mingled with us in her fancy, so that no good influence might be lost. I have thought of this," answered Mrs. Gwynn. But, Olive, it is a solemn secret, your father's, too. You ought never to reveal it, except to one bound to you by closest ties.

Starting point is 12:22:54 If you married, your husband would have a right to know it, or you might tell your brother. I do not quite understand, said Olive, yet she changed colour a little. Mrs. Gwynn kindly dropped her eyes and avoided looking at her companion, as she said, You, my dear, are my adopted daughter, therefore my son should be to you as a brother. Will you trust Harold?" "'Trust him. There is nothing with which I could not trust him,' said Olive earnestly. She had long found out that praise of Harold was as sweet to his mother's heart as to her

Starting point is 12:23:26 own. Then trust him in this. I think he has almost a right, or one day he may have.' Mrs. Gwyn's latter words sank indistinctly and scarcely reached Olive. Perhaps it was well. Such light falling on her darkness might have blinded her. Ere long the decision was made. Mrs. Gwynne wrote to her son and told him all. He was in Paris then, as she knew, so she charged him to seek out the school where Crystal was. Sustained by his position as a clergyman, his grave dignity and his mature years, he might well and ably

Starting point is 12:24:00 exercise an unseen guardianship over the girl. His mother earnestly desired him to do this, from his natural benevolence and for Olive's sake. I said that, my dear, observed Mrs. Gwynn, because I know his strong regard for you and his anxiety for your happiness. These words, thrilling in her ear, made broken and trembling the few lines which Olive wrote to Harold, saying how entirely she trusted him,

Starting point is 12:24:26 and how she implored him to save her sister. I am ready to do all you wish, wrote Harold in reply, "'Oh, my dear friend, to whom I owe so much, "'most happy should I be if in any way I could do good to you and yours.' "'From that time his letters came frequently and regularly. "'Passages from them will best show how his work of mercy sped. "'Paris, January. "'I have had no difficulty in gaining admittance to the pension,

Starting point is 12:24:55 "'for I chanced to go in Lord Arredale's carriage, "'and Madame Blandin would receive anyone "'who came under the shadow of an English, my lord.' "'Chrystal is there, in the situation she planned. "'I found out speedily, as she, poor girl, will find. "'How different is the position of a poor teacher "'from that of a rich pupil? "'I could not speak with her at all.

Starting point is 12:25:16 "'Madame Blandinand said she refused to see any English friends, "'and besides she could not be spared from the schoolroom. "'I must try some other plan. "'Do not speak again of this matter being burdensome to me. "'How could it be so, when it is for you and your sister? Believe me, though the duty is somewhat new, it is most grateful to me for your sake, my dear friend. I have seen, Crystal, it was at Mass.

Starting point is 12:25:40 She goes there with some Catholic pupils, I suppose. I watched her closely, but secretly. Poor girl, a life's anguish is written in her face. How changed since I last saw it! Even knowing all I could not choose but pity her. When she was bending before a crucifix, I saw how her whole frame trembled with sobs. It seemed not like devotion. It must be heart-broken misery. I came closer to meet her when she rose. The moment she saw me her whole face blazed, but for the sanctity of the place, I think she could not have

Starting point is 12:26:13 controlled herself. I never before saw at once such anger, such defiance, and yet such bitter shame. She turned away, took her little pupils by the hand, and walked out of the chapel. I dared not follow her, but many times since then I have watched her from the same spot, taking care that she should not see me. Who would think that haggard woman, sharp in manner, careless in dress, you see how closely I observe her, was the blithe crystal of old? But I sometimes fancied, even from her sporting, that there was the tigrous nature in that girl. Poor thing! And she had the power of passionately loving, too. Ah, we should all be slow to judge. We never can look into the depths of one another's hearts.

Starting point is 12:26:59 Crystal saw me today. Her eye was almost demoniacal in its threatening. Perhaps the pity she must have read in mine only kindled hers with wrath the more. I do not think she will come to the chapel again. My dear Miss Roth say, I do not like playing this underhand game. It almost makes me despise myself. Yet it is with a good intent, and I would do anything from my friendship for you. I have heard much about your sister today from a girl who was a pensioner at Madame Blendens. But fear not, I did the questioning skillfully, nor betrayed anything.

Starting point is 12:27:32 My friend, you know me well, as you say, but even you know not how wisely I can acquire one secret and hold fast another. An honourable school of hypocrisy I learnt in, truly. But to my subject, Little Clotilde does not love her instructress. Poor Crystal seems to be at war with the whole household. The pupil and the poor teacher must be very different in Madame Blondon. eyes. No wonder the girl is embittered. No marvel are those storms of passion, in which, according to Clotilde, she indulges, just as if she were a great English milady, when she is nobody at all, as I told her once, said the triumphant little French girl. "'And what did she answer?' asked I.

Starting point is 12:28:16 She went into a great fury and shook me till I trembled all over. Then she threw herself on her own bed at one end of the dormitory, and all that night, whenever I woke, I heard her crying and moaning. I would have been sorry for her, except that she was only the teacher. A poor penniless-en-less Anglese. This, my friend, is the lesson that Crystal must soon have to learn. It will wring her heart and either break it or soften it. But trust me, I will watch over her continually. Ill-fitted I may be, for the duty is more that of a woman, such a woman as yourself. But you have put something of your own nature into mine. I will silently guard Crystal as if I had been her own brother, and yours.

Starting point is 12:28:59 The crisis must be coming, from what the little girl tells me. Miss Manners and Madame Blandan have been at open war for days. Clotilde is in great glee since the English teacher is going away. Poor forlorn Crystal, whither can she go? I must try and save her before it is too late. I sit down at midnight to inform you of all that has happened this day, that you may at once answer and tell me what further I am to do. I went once more to visit Madame Blandin, who poured out upon me a whole stream of reproaches

Starting point is 12:29:30 against Crystal. She was en petit diables always, and now, though she has been my own pupil for years, I would rather turn her out to starve than keep her in my house for another day. But, said I, you might at least find her some other situation. I offered, if she would only tell me who she is and what are her connections. I cannot recommend as a governess a girl without friends, a nobody. "'Yet you took her as a pupil. "'Oh, monsieur, that was a different matter,

Starting point is 12:29:59 "'and then I was so liberally paid. "'Now, if you should be a relative.' "'I am not, as I told you,' said I, "'indignant at the woman's meanness. "'But I will see this poor girl, nevertheless, "'if she will permit me.' "'Her permission is no matter. "'No one cares for Miss Manners's whims now,'

Starting point is 12:30:16 "'was the careless reply, "'as madame ushered me into the deserted schoolroom, "'and then quickly vanished. "'She evidently dreaded a meeting with her refractory teacher. Well she might, for there sat Crystal, but I will tell you all minutely. You see how I try to note down every trifle, knowing your anxiety. Crystal was sitting at the window, gazing at the high, blank convent-like walls. Dull, helpless misery was in every line of her face and attitude. But the moment she saw me she rose up, her eyes darting fire.

Starting point is 12:30:48 Have you come to insult me, Mr. Gwyn? Did I not send you word I would see no one? What do you mean by haunting me in this way. I spoke to her very quietly, and begged her to remember I was a friend, and had parted from her as such only three months before. But you know what has happened since. Attempt not to deceive me. You do. I read it in your eyes long ago at the chapel. You are come to pity the poor nameless wretch, the—ah! You know the horrible word. Well, do I look like that? Can you read in my face my mother's shame? She was half beside herself, I saw. It was an awful thing to hear her, a young girl, talk thus to me, I, and without one natural blush. I said to her gently, that I knew the unhappy truth, but as regarded herself, it could make

Starting point is 12:31:35 no difference of feeling in any right judging mind, nor would with those who had loved her, and who now anxiously wished to hear from me of her welfare. You mean your mother, who hates me as I hate her, and Olive Rothsay whom I tried to murder. Friend, you did not tell me that. I drew back the hand I had offered. Forgive me, Olive, let me this once call you so. Forgive me that I felt a momentary abhorrence for the miserable creature who might have taken your precious life away.

Starting point is 12:32:04 Yet you would not tell the fact, even to me. Remembering this I turned again to your sister, who cannot be altogether evil since she is dear to you. I said, and solemnly I know, for I was greatly moved. Crystal, from your own lips have I first heard of this. your sisters were sealed, as they would have been on that other secret. Are you not softened by all this goodness? No, she thinks to crush me down with it, does she?

Starting point is 12:32:30 But she shall not do so. If I grow wicked, I, worse than you ever dream of, I shall be glad. It will punish her for the wrong her father did, and so I shall be revenged upon his child. Remember, it is all because of him. As to his daughter I could have loved her once, until she came between me and—' I know all that, said I. Needlessly enough, but I was not thinking of Crystal just then. She rose up in a fury and demanded what right I had to know.

Starting point is 12:32:57 I answered her as, After a struggle with myself I thought best. How, I will tell you one day, but I must hasten on now. She was calmed a little, I saw, but her passion rose again when I mentioned Lyle. Speak of that no more, she cried. It is all past and gone. There is no feeling in my heart but hatred and burning shame. Oh, that I had never been born." I pitied her from my soul, as she crouched down, not weeping, but groaning out her misery.

Starting point is 12:33:25 Strange that she should have let me see it, but she was so humbled now, and perceiving that I trusted her, perhaps she was the more one to trust me. I had considered this when I spoke to her as I did. My dear friend, Olive, I myself am learning what I fain would teach this poor girl, that there is sometimes great evil done by that selfishness which we call a just pride. while we were talking, I very earnestly, and she listening much subdued, there entered Madame Blondin. At the sight of her the evil spirit awoke again in unhappy crystal. She did not speak, but I saw the flaming of her eyes, the haughtiness of her gesture. It was not tempered by the woman's half-insulting manner. I am come to make one last offer to Mademoiselle, who will do well to accept it, always with the advice of her English friend, or, whatever he may be, she

Starting point is 12:34:17 added, smirking. I have already told you, madame, that I am a clergyman, and that this young lady is my mother's friend, said I, striving hard to restrain my anger, by thinking of one for whom I ought and would endure all things. Then monsieur can easily explain the mystery about Mademoiselle Crystal, and she can accept the situation. For her talents I myself will answer. It is merely requisite that she should be of Protestant principles and of good parentage. Now, of course, the latter is no difficulty with a young lady who was once so enthusiastic about her high family. Crystal looked as if she could have sprung at her tormentor and torn her limb from limb. Then, turning deadly white, she gasped out, take me away, let me

Starting point is 12:35:00 hide my head anywhere. Madame Blaninin began to make bitter guesses at the truth. I feared lest she would drive the girl mad, or goad her on to the perpetration of some horrible crime. I dared not leave her in the house another hour. A thought struck me. Come, Crystal, I said. I will take you home with me. Home with you. What then would they say of me, the cruel, malicious world? I am beginning to be very wise in crime, you see, and she laughed frightfully. But it matters not what is done by my mother's child. I will go. You shall, I said, gravely, to the care of my friend, Lady Arendale. It will be enough for her to hear that you come from Harbury and are known to me. Crystal resisted no more.

Starting point is 12:35:42 I brought her to share the kindness of good Lady Arendale, who needed no other guarantee than that it was a kindness asked by me. Olive, may I begin to call you so, acting as your brother I feel to have almost a right. Olive, be at rest. Tonight, ere I sat down to write, I heard that your sister was quietly sleeping beneath this hospitable roof. It will shelter her safely until some other plan can be formed.

Starting point is 12:36:07 I also feel at peace, since I have given peace you. Peace, too, I see in both our futures, when this trouble is overpassed. God grant it, he to whom, as I stand at this window, and look up at the stars shining down into the midnight river, I cry, Thou art my God. I have an awful tale to tell, one that I should fear to inform you, save that I can say, thank God with me that the misery has passed, that he has overruled it into good. "'So, reading this, do not tremble, do not let it startle you. "'Feeble, as my mother tells me you still are. "'Poor little Olive, she calls you so.

Starting point is 12:36:47 "'Last night, after I closed my letter, "'I went out to take my usual quiet ramble before going to rest. "'I went to the Pont Noy, near which Lord Arendale resides. "'I walked slowly, for I was thinking deeply, of what it matters not now. "'On the whole, my thoughts were happy, so happy that I did not see how close to me was standing misery. Misery in the shape of a poor wretch, a woman. When I did see her it was with that pang, half shame, half pity, which must smite an honest man, to think how vile and cruel are some among his brethren. I went away to the other wall of the bridge.

Starting point is 12:37:24 I could not bear that the unhappy creature should think I watched her crouching there. I was just departing without again looking round, when my eye was unconsciously caught by the glitter of white garments in the moonlight. She was climbing the parapet to leap into the arms of death. I know not how that awful moment passed, what I said or did, for there was no time for words. But I saved her. I held her fast, though she struggled with miraculous strength. Once she had nearly periled both our lives, for we stood on the very edge of the bridge. But I saved her. Olive, cry with me, thank God, thank God. At last, half-fainting she sank on the ground, and I saw her face. It was Crystal's face. If I had not been kept wandering here, filled with

Starting point is 12:38:09 these blessed thoughts, which, please heaven, I will tell you one day, your sister might have perished. Say again with me, thank God. His mercy is about us continually. I cannot clearly tell what I did in that first instant of horror. I only remember that Crystal, recognizing me, cried out in piteous reproach, you should have let me die. You should have let me die. But she is is saved. Olive, be sure that she is saved. Her right spirit will come into her again. It is coming even now, for she is with kind Lady Arindale, a woman almost like yourself. To her, when I carried Crystal home, I was obliged to reveal something of the truth, though not much. How the miserable girl contrived to escape we cannot tell, but it will not happen again. Do not be unhappy about

Starting point is 12:38:57 your sister. Take care of your own health. Think how precious you are to my mother and to—' All your friends. This letter is abrupt, for my thoughts are still bewildered, but I will write again soon. Only let me hear that you are well, and that in this matter you trust to me. I have not seen Crystal for many days until yesterday. She has had a severe illness, during which Lady Arendale has been almost like a mother to her. We thought it best that she should see no one else, but yesterday she sent for me, and I went. She was lying on a sofa, her high spirit utterly broken.

Starting point is 12:39:31 in. She faintly smiled when I came in, but her mouth had a patient sunken look, such as I have seen you wear when you were ill last year. She reminded me of you much. I could almost have wept over her. Do you not think I am strangely changed? I do sometimes, but no more of this now. Crystal made no allusion to the past. She said she desired to speak to me about her future, to consult me about a plan she had. It was one at which I did not marvel. She wished to hide herself from the world altogether, in some life which in its eternal quiet might be most like death. I said to her, I will see what can be done, but it is not easy. There are no convents or monasteries open to us Protestants. Crystal looked for a moment like her own scornful self.

Starting point is 12:40:18 Us Protestants, she echoed, and then she said humbly, one more confession can be nothing to me now. I have deceived you all. I am, and I have ever been, a Roman Catholic. She thought, perhaps, I should have blamed her for this long course of religious falsehood. I blame her. Olive, for God's sake, do not let my mother read all I write to you. She shall know everything soon, but not now. But you will not thwart me, Crystal said. Though you are an English clergyman, you will find me some resting place, some convent where I can hide, and no one ever hear of me any more.

Starting point is 12:40:53 I found that to oppose her was useless. Little religion she ever seemed to have had, so that no devoteeism urged her to this scheme. She only wanted rest. You will agree with me that it is best she should have her will, for the time at least. I have just received your letter. Yes, yours is a wise and kindly plan. I will write at once to Aunt Flora about it. Poor Crystal. Perhaps she may find peace as a novice at St. Margaret's. Some little fear I had in communicating the scheme to her, for she still shudders at the very mention of her father's name, and she might refuse to go to her father's land. But she is helpless in body and mind, that in everything she has at last implicitly trusted to my guidance.

Starting point is 12:41:37 I suppose you too have heard from Edinburgh. Dear Aunt Flora, who, despite her growing feebleness, is continually seeking to do good. I, like you, judged it better not to tell her the whole story, but only that Crystal was an orphan who had suffered much. At St. Margaret she will see no one but the good nuns, until, as your aunt proposes, you yourself go to Edinburgh. You may be your sister's saving angel still. Crystal is gone.

Starting point is 12:42:05 Lady Arendale herself will take her safe to St. Margaret's, where your aunt has arranged all. Olive, we must not fail both to go to Edinburgh soon. Something tells me this will be the last good deed done on earth by our noble Aunt Flora. For what you say in your last letter, thank you. But why do you talk of gratitude? All I ever did was not half-worthy of you. You ask of myself and my plans. I have thought little of either lately, but I shall now. Tell my mother that all her letters came

Starting point is 12:42:34 safe and welcome, especially the first she wrote. Lord Arendale stays abroad until the year's close. For me, in the early spring, when I have finished my duties with him, I shall come home. Home. Thank God. End of Chapter 46 of Olive. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dinah Maria Crake Chapter 46 Night and day there wrung in Olive's heart the last words of Harold's letter, I shall come home. Simple they were, but they seemed so strangely joyful, so full of hope. She could not tell why, but, thinking of him now, her whole world seemed to change.

Starting point is 12:43:25 He was coming back. With him came spring and sunshine, youth and hope. It was yet early in the year. The little crocuses peeped out, the violets purpled the banks. Now and then came soft west winds, sighing sweetness over the earth. Not a breeze passed her by. Not a flower sprang in her sight. Not one sunny day dawned to ripen the growing year, but Olive's heart leaped within her, for she said,

Starting point is 12:43:53 He will come with the spring. He will come with the spring. How and with what mind he would come? Whether he would tell her he loved her or ask her to be his wife, She counted none of these things. Her love was too unselfish, too utterly bound up in him. She only thought that she would see his face, clasp his hand and walk with him, the same as in the dear old time.

Starting point is 12:44:15 Not quite, perhaps, for she was conscious that in the bond between them had come a change, a growth. How she knew not, but it had come. Sometimes she sat thinking, would he tell her all those things which he had promised, and what could they be? and above all would he call her as in his letters, Olive. Written it looked most beautiful in her sight,

Starting point is 12:44:38 but when spoken, it must be a music of which the world could hold no parallel. A little she strove to temper her happiness, for she was no lovesick girl but a woman, who, giving her heart, how wholly none but herself could tell, had given it in the fear of God and in all simplicity. Having known the sorrow of love, she was not ashamed to rejoice in love's joy. But she did so meekly and half-tremblingly, scarcely believing that it was such, lest it should overpower her. She set herself to all her duties,

Starting point is 12:45:10 and, above all, worked sedulously at a picture which she had begun. "'It must be finished before Harold comes home,' said Harold's mother. "'I told him of it in my letters, you know.' "'Indeed, I do not remember that. And yet for this long while you have let me see all your letters, I think. All, except one I wrote when you were ill. But never mind it, my dear, I can tell you what I said. Or perhaps Harold will, answered Mrs. Gwynne, her face brightening in its own peculiar smile of heartfelt benevolence and lurking humor. And then the brief conversation ceased. For a while longer these two loving hearts waited anxiously for Harold's coming. At last he came.

Starting point is 12:45:51 It was in the sweetest month, the opening gate of the summer year, April. mrs gwynne and olive only they too had spent the day together at harbury for little isley a child too restless to be ruled by quiet age was now sent away to school mrs gwynne sat in her arm-chair knitting olives stood at the window thinking how beautiful the garden looked just freshened with an april shower and how the same passing rain-cloud melting in the west had burst into a most gorgeous sunset her happiness even took a light tone of girlish romance looking at the thorn-tree now covered with pale green leaves She thought with a pleasant fancy that when it was white with blossoms, Harold would be here, and her full heart, hardly conscious why, ran over with a trembling joy. Nevertheless, amidst all her own hope, she remembered tenderly her poor sister far away, and also Lyle, whom since that day he parted from her she had never seen, thinking, how sweet it is to feel happy, she thought likewise, as those who have suffered ever must,

Starting point is 12:46:57 Heaven make all the world happy, too. It was just after this silent aspiration, which of all others must bring an answering blessing down, that the long-desired one came home. His mother heard him first. Hark, there's someone in the hall. Listen, Olive, it is his voice. I know it is. He has come home, my son, my dear son, Harold! And with eager, trembling steps she hurried out. Olive stayed behind. She had no right to go and meet him as his mother did, and after one wild throb her heart sank, so faintly that she could hardly stand. His voice, his long silent voice. Hearing it, the old feeling came over her. She shuddered, even with a sort of fear. Heaven save me from myself. Heaven keep my heart at peace. Perhaps he will not suffer himself to love me, or does not wish me to love him. I have thought so sometimes. yes i am quite calm quite ready to meet him now and she felt herself growing all white and cold as she stood the door opened and harold came in alone not one step could she advance to meet him not one word of welcome fell from her lips nor from his which were pale as her own But as he clasped her hands and held them fast, she felt him gazing down upon her,

Starting point is 12:48:19 now, for the first time, beginning to read her heart. Something in that fond, aye, it was a fond look, was drawing her closer to him, something that told her she was dearer than any friend. It might have happened so. That moment might have proved the crowning moment of life, which blends two hearts of man and woman into one love, making their being complete, as God meant it should be. But at the same instant Mrs. Gwynn came in.

Starting point is 12:48:46 Their hands fell from one another. Harold quitted Olive's side and began talking to his mother. Olive stood by herself in the window. She felt as if her whole destiny was changing, melting from cloud to glory like the sunset she had watched an hour before. Whatever was the mystery that had kept him silent, she believed that in the secret depth of his heart, Harold loved her. Once she had thought that were this knowledge true,

Starting point is 12:49:13 the joy would overpower her reason. Now it came with such a solemnity that all agitation ceased. Her hands were folded on her heart, her eyes looked heavenwards. Her prayer was, Oh, God, if this happiness should be, make me worthy of it, worthy of him. If not, keep us both safe until the eternal meeting. Then, all emotion having passed away, she went back quietly to Harold and his mother. They were sitting together on the sofa, Harold holding his mother's hand in one of his. When Olive approached, he stretched out the other, saying, come to us, little Olive, come, shall she, mother? Yes, was Mrs. Gwyn's low answer, but Olive heard it. It was the lonely heart's first welcome home. For an hour afterwards she sat

Starting point is 12:50:03 by Harold's side in the gathering darkness, feeling her hand safe clasped in his. Never was there any clasped like Harold's, so firm yet soft, so gentle, yet so close and warm. It fills her with a sense of rest and protection. She long tossed about in the weary world. Once or twice she moved her hand, but only to lay it again in his, and feel his welcoming fingers close over it, as if to say, Mine, mine, always mine. So they sat and talked together, she and Harold and Harold's mother, talked as if they were one loving household, whose every interest was united. Though nevertheless, not one word was spoken that might break the seal upon any of their hearts. "'How happy it is to come home,' said Harold.

Starting point is 12:50:52 "'How blessed to feel that one has a home! I thought so more strongly than ever I had done before, one day, at Rome, when I was with Olive's old friend Michael Vanbrough. "'Oh, tell me of the Vanbras!' cried Olive eagerly. "'Then you did see them at last, though you never were. ever said anything about it in your letters. No, for it was a long story, and both our thoughts were too full. Shall I tell it now? Yet it is sad, it will pain you, Olive, and he pressed her hand closer while he spoke. She answered, still, tell me all. And she felt that, so listening,

Starting point is 12:51:27 the heaviest worldly sorrow would have fallen light. I was long before I could discover Mr. Vanbrugh, and still longer before I found out his abode. Day after day, I met him and talked with him at the Sistine, but he never spoke of his home or asked me thither. He had good reason. Were they so poor, then? I feared this, said Olive compassionately. Yes, it was the story of a shattered hope. As I think, Vanbrough was a man to whom fortune could never come.

Starting point is 12:51:56 He must have hunted her from him all his life, with his pride, his waywardness, his fitful morose ambition. I soon read his character, for I had read another very like it, one. But that is changed now, thank God," said Harold softly. Well, so it was. The painter dreamed his dream, the little sister stayed at home and starved. Starved! Oh, no, you cannot mean that!

Starting point is 12:52:22 It would have been so, save for Lord Arindale's benevolence when we found them out at last. They lived in a miserable house which had but one decent room, the studio. Michael's room must always be comfortable, said Miss Meliora. I knew her at once, Olive, after a little bit of a little. all you had told me of her. The poor little woman. She almost wept to hear the sound of my English voice and to talk with me about you. She said she was very lonely among strangers, but she would get used to it in time. She was not well, too, but it would never do to give way. It might trouble Michael. She would get better in the spring. Poor Meliora! But you were very kind to her.

Starting point is 12:53:00 You went to see her often. I knew you would. There was no time, Harold answered, sadly. day after this we sought out Michael Vanbrough, in his old haunt, the Sistine Chapel. He was somewhat discomposed because his sister had not risen in time to set his palate, and get all things ready in his painting room at home. I went thither and found her, dying. Harold paused, but Olive was too much moved to speak. He went on. So sudden was the call that she would not believe it herself. She kept saying continually that she must contrive to rise before Michael came back at night. Even when she knew she was dying, she seemed to think only of him, but always in her simple, humble way. I remember how she talked, brokenly, of some drapery she had to make for his

Starting point is 12:53:47 model that day, asking me to get someone else to do it, or the picture would be delayed. Once, she wept, saying, who would take care of Michael when she was gone? She would not have him sent for. He never liked to be disturbed when he was at the Cistine. Towards evening she seemed to lie eagerly listening, but he did not come home. At last she bade me give her love to Michael. She wished he had come, if only to kiss her before she died. He had not kissed her for thirty years. Once more, just when she seemed to passing into a death-like sleep,

Starting point is 12:54:19 she half roused herself, to beg someone would take care that Michael's tea was all ready for him against he came home. After this she never spoke again. Poor Meliora! Poor simple, loving soul! And Olive melted into quiet tears. after a while she inquired in what way this blow had fallen upon michael vanbrough strangely indeed said harold it was i who told him first of his sister's death he received the news quite coldly as a thing impossible to realize he even sat down to the table as if he expected her to come in and pour out his tea but afterwards leaving the meal untouched he went and shut himself up in his painting-room without speaking a word and then i quitted the house

Starting point is 12:55:06 "'But you saw him again?' "'No, for I left Rome immediately. "'However I had a friend who watched over him and constantly sent me news. "'So I learnt that after his sister's death a great change came over him. "'His one household stay gone. "'He seemed to sink down helpless as a child. "'He would wander about the house as though he missed something. "'He knew not what.

Starting point is 12:55:27 "'His painting was neglected. "'He became slovenly in his dress, restless in his look. "'No one could say he grieved for his sister, but he missed her, as one misses the habit of a lifetime. So he gradually changed, and grew speedily to be a worn-out, miserable old man. A week since I heard that his last picture had been bought by the Cardinal F, and that Michael Vanbrough slept eternally beneath the blue sky of Rome. He had his wish, he had his wish, said Olive gently,

Starting point is 12:55:59 and his faithful little sister had hers, for nothing ever parted them. "'Women are content thus to give up their lives to someone beloved. "'The happiness is far beyond the pain.' "'You told me so once before,' answered Harold, in a low tone. "'Do you remember? It was at the hermitage of Braid.' "'He stopped, thinking she would have replied, but she was silent. "'Her silence seemed to grow over him like a cloud. "'When the lights came in, he looked the same, proud, impassive Harold Gwyn as in the old time.

Starting point is 12:56:30 Already his clasp had melted from Olive's hand. Before she could guess the reason why she found him speaking, and she answering coldly, indifferently, all the sweetness of that sweet hour had with it passed away. This sudden change so pained her that very soon she began to talk of returning home. Harold rose to accompany her, but he did so with the formal speech of necessary courtesy. Allow me the pleasure, Miss Rothsay. It stung her to the heart. "'Indeed, you need not, when you are already tired. "'It is still early. I had much rather go home alone.'

Starting point is 12:57:06 Harold sat down again at once. She prepared to depart. She shook hands with his mother, and then with himself, saying in a voice that, lest it should tremble, she made very low, quiet and cold, how glad she was that he had come home safe. However, before she reached the garden gate, Harold followed her. "'Excuse me, but my mother is not easy for you to set off thus, "'and we may as well return to our old custom of walking home together, "'just once more.

Starting point is 12:57:36 "'What could he mean? "'Aolive would have asked him, but she dared not. "'Even yet there was a veil between their hearts. "'Would it ever be drawn aside? "'There were few words spoken on the way to Farnwood, "'and those few were of ordinary things. "'Once Olive talked of Michael Vanbrough and his misfortunes. "'You call him unfortunate,

Starting point is 12:57:55 it. How know you that? said Harold quickly. He needed no human affection, and so on its loss suffered no pain. He had no desire save for fame. His pride was never humbled to find himself dependent on mere love. The old painter was a great and a happy man. Great he was, but not happy. I think I had rather be the poor little sister who spent her life for him. I, in a foolish affection which was all in vain. Affection is never in vain. I have thought sometimes that as to give is better than to receive, they who love are happier than they who are loved." Harold was silent.

Starting point is 12:58:35 He remained so until they stood at Miss Rothsay's door. Then, bidding her goodbye, he took her two hands, saying, as if inquiringly, "'Olive?' "'Yes,' she answered, trembling a little, but not much, for her dream of happiness was fading slowly away, and she was sinking back into her old, patient, hopeless self. That olden self alone spoke, as she added, "'Is there anything you would say to me?' "'No, no, nothing, only good-night,' and he hastily walked away.

Starting point is 12:59:07 An hour after, Olive closed her heavy eyes that burned with long weeping, and lay down to sleep, thinking there was no blessing like the oblivion of night after every weary day. She lay down, little knowing what mystery of fate that quiet night was bearing in its bosom. From her first sleep she started in the vague terror of one who has been suddenly awakened. There was a great noise, knocking, crashing, a sound of mingled voices, and above all her name called. Anywhere, waking or sleeping, she would have known that voice, for it was Harold Gwyns.

Starting point is 12:59:43 At first she thought she must still be dreaming some horrible dream, but consciousness came quick, as it often does at such a time. Before the next outcry was raised, she had guessed its meaning. Upon her had come that most awful waking, the waking in a house on fire. There are some women who, in moments of danger, gain an almost miraculous composure and presence of mind. Olive was one of these. calmly she answered Harold's half-frenzied call to her from without her door. I am awake and safe.

Starting point is 13:00:15 The fire is not in my room. Tell me, what must I do? Dress quickly. There is time. think of all you can save and come, she heard Harold's reply. His passionate cry of Olive had ceased. He was now as self-possessed as she. Her room was light as day, with the reflection of the flames that were consuming the other end of the long, straggling house.

Starting point is 13:00:37 She dressed herself, her hands never trembling, her thoughts quick, vivid, and painfully minute. There came into her mind everything she would lose, her household mementos, the unfinished picture, her well-beloved books. She saw herself penniless, homeless, escaping only with life. But that life she owed to Harold Gwynne, how everything had chanced she never paused to consider. There was a sweetness, even a wild gladness in the thought of peril from which Harold had come to save her. She heard his voice eager with anxiety. Miss Rothsay, hasten, the fire is gaining on us fast. And added to his was the cry of her faithful old servant, Hannah, whom he had rescued too. He seemed to stand firm amidst the confusion and terror, ruling everyone with the very sound of his voice, that knew no fear,

Starting point is 13:01:30 except when it trembled with Olive's name. Quick, quick, I cannot rest till I have you safe. Olive, for God's sake, come, bring with you anything you value, only come. She had but two chief treasures, always kept near her, her mother's portrait and herald's letters. The letters she hid in her bosom, the picture she carried in her arms. Thus laden, she quitted the burning house. It was an awful scene. The utter loneliness of the place precluded any hope of battling with the fire, but, the night being still and windless, it advanced slowly.

Starting point is 13:02:04 Sometimes, mockingly, it almost seemed to die away, and then rose up again in a hurricane of flame. Olive and Harold stood on the lawn, she clinging to his hand like a child. Is there no hope of saving it? "'My pretty cottage, my dear home where my mother died!' "'Since you are safe, let the house burn, I care not,' muttered Harold. He seemed strangely jealous even of her thoughts, her tears. "'Be content,' he said.

Starting point is 13:02:32 "'You see much has been done.' He pointed to the lawns strewn with furniture. "'All is there, your picture, your mother's little chair, "'everything I thought you cared for I have saved.' "'And my life, too! "'Oh! "'It is so sweet to owe you all.' He quitted her for a moment to speak to some of the men whom he had brought with him from

Starting point is 13:02:52 Harbury. Then he came back, and stood beside Olive on the lawn. She watching the doomed house, he only watching her. The night is cold, you shiver. I am glad I thought to bring this. He took off his plaid and wrapped her in it, holding his arm round her the while. But she scarcely felt it then. Through the yawning, blazing windows she saw the fire within, lighting up in its laughing destruction

Starting point is 13:03:17 the little parlor where her mother used to sit, twining round the white-curtained bed, whereon her mother's last breath had been sighed away peacefully in her arms. She stood speechless, gazing upon this piteous household ruin, wherein were engulfed so many memories. But very soon there came the crash of the sinking roof, and then a cloud of dense smoke and flame arose, sweeping over where she and Herald stood, falling in showers of sparks around their feet. instinctively Olive clung to Harold, hiding her blinded eyes upon his arm. She felt him press her to him, for an instant only, but with the strong, true impulse, taught by one only feeling.

Starting point is 13:04:00 You must not stay here, he said. Come with me, home. Home! And she looked wistfully at the ruins of her own. Yes, to my home, my mother's. You know for the present it must indeed be yours. Come. He gave her his arm to lean.

Starting point is 13:04:15 on. She tried to walk, but, quite overpowered, staggered, fainted, and fell. When she awoke, she felt herself born like a child in Harold's arms. No power had she to move or speak. All was a dizzy dream. Through it, she faintly heard him whisper as though to himself, I have saved her. I hold her fast. Little olive, little olive. When they reached the parsonage door, he stood still a moment, passionately looking down upon her face. One minute he strained her closer to his heart, and then placed her in his mother's arms. "'She is safe! Oh, thank God!' cried Mrs. Gwyn, "'and you too, my dear son, my brave Harold!'

Starting point is 13:04:58 And she turned to him as he stood, leaning breathless against the wall. He tried to speak, but in vain there was one gasp, the blood poured in a torrent from his mouth, and he fell down at his mother's feet. End of Chapter 46 Chapter 47 of Olive This Libervox recording is in the public domain Olive by Dinah Maria Crake Chapter 47

Starting point is 13:05:31 He has given his life in saving mine Oh would that I had died for thee My herald My herald This was ever more Olive's cry During the days of awful suspense When they knew not but that every hour might be Harold's last. He had broken a blood vessel in the lungs. Through some violent mental

Starting point is 13:05:53 emotion, the physician said, nothing else could have produced such results in his usually strong and manly frame. And it was for me, for me, moaned Olive, yet I doubted him. I almost called him cruel. Oh, that I should never have known his heart until now! Every feeling of womanly shame vanished before the threatening shadow of death. Night and day, Olive hovered about the door of Harold's room, listening for any sound, but there was always silence. No one passed in and out except his mother. His mother, on whom Olive hardly dared to look, lest, innocent though she was, she might read reproach in Mrs. Gwyn's sorrowful eye. Once she even ventured to hint this.

Starting point is 13:06:39 I angry, because it was in saving you that this happened to my son. No, Olive, no. No, whatever God sends we will bear together. Mrs. Gwynn said this kindly, but her heart seemed frozen to every thought except one. She rarely quitted Harold's chamber and scarcely noticed any person, not even Olive. One night, or rather early morning, during the time of great crisis, she came out and saw Olive standing in the passage, with a face whereon was written such utter woe that before it even the mother's sorrow paled, It seemed to move Mrs. Gwynne deeply. My dear, how long have you been here?

Starting point is 13:07:21 All night. Poor child, poor child. It is all I can do for him and you. If I could only—I guess what you would say. No, no. He must be perfectly quiet. He must not see or hear you. And the mother turned away, as though she had said too much.

Starting point is 13:07:41 But what to Olive was it now to know that Harold loved her? She would have resigned all the blessing of his love to bring to him health and life. So crushed, so hopeless was her look that Harold's mother pitied her. Thinking a moment, she said, He is fast asleep now. If it would comfort you, poor child, to look at him for one moment, but it must be only one. Olive bowed her head.

Starting point is 13:08:06 She was past speaking, and followed Mrs. Gwynn. With a step as silent and solemn as though she were going to look on death, she went and looked on the beloved of her heart. Harold lay. His face perfectly blanched, his dark hair falling heavily on the pillow, as if never to be stirred by life or motion more. They stood by his bed,

Starting point is 13:08:29 the mother that bore him, and the woman who loved him dearer than her own soul. These two, the strongest of all earthly loves, so blended in one object, constrained them each to each. They turned from gazing on Harold, and sank into one another's arms. For a few more days continued this agonizing wrestling with death,

Starting point is 13:08:51 during which they who would have given their life for heralds could only look on and pray. During this time there came news to Olive from the world without, news that otherwise would have moved her, but which was now coldly received, as of no moment at all. Lyle Derwent had suddenly married, his heart, like many another, being one in the rebound, and Mrs. Flora Rothsay had passed away, dying in the night peacefully and without pain,

Starting point is 13:09:19 for they found her in the attitude of sleep. But even for her, Olive had no tears. She only shuddered over the letter because it spoke of death. All the world seemed full of death. She walked in its shadow night and day. Her only thought and prayer was, Give me his life. Only his life, oh God.

Starting point is 13:09:40 And Harold's life was given her. But the hope came very faintly at first, or it might have been too much to bear. Day by day it grew stronger, until all present danger was gone. But there were many chances to be guarded against, and so, as soon as this change for the better arrived, Olive came to look at him in his sleep no more. His mother was very cautious over his every look and word, so that Olive could not even learn whether he had ever given any sign that he thought of her. And now that his health was returning,

Starting point is 13:10:12 Her womanly reserve came back. She no longer lingered at his door. Even her joy was restrained and mingled with a trembling doubt. At length, Harold was allowed to be moved to his mother's dressing-room. Very eager and joyful Mrs. Gwynne was, ransacking the house for pillows to make him lie easy on the sofa and plads to wrap him in, full of that glad, even childish excitement, with which we delight to hail the recovery of one beloved who has been nearly lost. The pleasure extended itself over the whole household, to whom their master was very dear.

Starting point is 13:10:47 Olive only sat in her own room, listening to every footstep. Mrs. Gwynn came to her at last. "'It is all done, my dear, and he is not so weak as we feared, but he is very much exhausted still. We must take great care even now.' "'Certainly,' answered Olive, she knew what the anxious mother meant, and dared not utter the longing at her heart. "'I hardly know what to do,' said Mrs. Gwynne restlessly. "'He has been asking to see you.' "'To see me? And may I?'

Starting point is 13:11:19 "'I told him not to-day, and I was right. "'Child, look at your own face now. "'Until you can calm yourself, you shall not see my herald.' "'Without offering any opposition,' Olive sat down. "'Mrs. Gwyn was melted. "'Nay,' she said, "'you shall do as you will, little patient one. "'I left him asleep now.'

Starting point is 13:11:39 You shall stay by him until he wakes. Come. She took her to the door, but quitted her there, perhaps remembering the days when she too was young. Olive entered, noiselessly, and took her place by Harold's side. He was sleeping, though it was not the death-like sleep in which she had beheld him that mournful night, but a quiet, healthful slumber.

Starting point is 13:12:01 His whole face seemed softened and spiritualized, as is often the case with strong men whom a long illness has brought low. with childlike helplessness there seems to come a childlike peace olive knew now why mrs gwynne had said a few days since that harold looked as he had done when he was a little boy his mother's only boy for a few minutes olive sat silently watching she felt how utterly she loved him how had he died the whole world would have faded from her like a blank dream and even now should she have to part from him in any way i cannot i cannot i cannot It would be more than I could bear. And from the depth of her heart rose a heavy sigh. Harold seemed to hear it. He moved a little and said, faintly, who was there?

Starting point is 13:12:51 It is I. Olive, little Olive. His white cheek flushed, and he held out his hand. She, remembering his mother's caution, only whispered, I am so glad, so glad. It is a long time since I saw you. He said, brokenly, "'Stand so that I can look at you, Olive.'

Starting point is 13:13:13 She obeyed. He looked long and wistfully at her face. "'You have been weeping, I see. Wherefore?' "'Because I am so happy to think you are better.' "'Is that true? Do you think so much of me?' And a pale but most joyful smile broke over his face, though, leaving it, the features trembled with emotion. Olive was alarmed.

Starting point is 13:13:39 You must not talk now. Not one word. Remember how very ill you have been. I will sit by you here. Oh, what can I ever do or say in gratitude for all you have done for me? Gratitude. Harold echoed the word as if with pain, and then lay still, looking up at her no more.

Starting point is 13:13:59 Gradually there came a change over his countenance, as if some bitter thought were slowly softening into calmness. "'Olive,' he said, "'you speak of gratitude, "'then what must be mine to you? "'In those long hours when I lay conscious but silent, "'knowing that there might be but a breath between me and eternity, "'how should I have felt had I not learnt from you

Starting point is 13:14:23 "'that holy faith which conquers death?' "'Thank God, thank God, "'but you are weak and must not speak. "'I must, for I am stronger now, "'I draw strength from your very presence, "'you who have been my life's good angel. "'Let me tell you so while I can.' "'While you can.'

Starting point is 13:14:43 "'Yes, for I sometimes think that, "'though I am thus far better, "'I shall never be quite myself again, "'but slowly, perhaps without suffering, "'pass away from this world. "'Oh, no! Oh, no!' "'And Olive clasped his hand tighter, "'looking up with a terrified air.

Starting point is 13:15:02 "'You cannot, shall not die. "'I—' I could not bear it! And then her face was dyed with a crimson blush, soon washed away by a torrent of tears. Harold turned feebly round, and laid his right hand on her head. Little Olive, to think that you should weep thus,

Starting point is 13:15:22 and I should be so calm. He waited a while, until her emotion had ceased. Then he said, Lift up your face, let me look at you. Nay, tremble not, for I am going to speak very solemnly. of things that I might never have uttered save for such an hour as this. You will listen, my own dear friend, my sister, as you said you would be. Yes, yes, always.

Starting point is 13:15:48 Ah, Olive, you thought not that you were more to me than any friend, any sister, that I loved you, not calmly, brotherly, but with all the strength and passion of my heart, as a man loves the woman he would choose out of all the world to be his wife. These words trembled on lips, white as though they had been the lips of death. Olive heard, but she only pressed his hand without speaking. Harold went on. I tell you this. Because now, when I feel so changed that all earthly things grow dim,

Starting point is 13:16:22 I am not too proud to say I love you. Once I was. You stole into my heart before I was aware. Oh, how I wrestled against this love! I who had been once deceived, so that I believed in no woman's truth. At last I resolved to trust in yours, but I would try to be quite sure of it first.

Starting point is 13:16:41 You remember how I talked to you and how you answered, in the hermitage of Braid. Then I knew you loved, but I thought you loved not me. How could you think so? Oh, Harold! Harold! As she uttered his name, tremulously as a woman breathes for the first time the beloved name in the beloved ear, Harold started, but still he answered calmly.

Starting point is 13:17:06 Whether that thought was true or not would not change what I am about to say now. All my pride is gone. I only desire that you should know how deeply I loved you, and that, living or dying, I shall love you ever more. Olive tried to answer, tried to tell him the story of her one great love, so hopeless, yet so faithful, so passionate, yet so dumb. but she could utter nothing save the murmur. Herald!

Starting point is 13:17:34 Herald! And therein he learnt all. Looking upon her, there came into his face an expression of unutterable joy. He made an effort to raise himself, but in vain. Come, he murmured. Come near me, Olive. My little Olive that loves me! Is it not so?

Starting point is 13:17:53 Ever from the first, you only! None but you! Kiss me then, my own faithful one, he said faintly. Olive leaned over him and kissed him on the eyes and mouth. He tried to fold his arms round her but failed. I have no strength at all, he said sorrowfully. I cannot take her to my heart, my darling, my wife.

Starting point is 13:18:16 So worn out am I, so weak. But I am strong, Olive answered. She put her arm under his head and made him lean on her shoulder. He looked up, smiling. Oh, this is sweet, very sweet. sweet. I could sleep. I could almost die, thus. No, God will not let you die, my Harold, whispered Olive, and then neither spoke again. Overpowered by an emotion which was too much for his feeble strength, Harold lay quiet. By degrees when the room darkened, for it was evening, his breathing

Starting point is 13:18:51 grew deeper, and he fell asleep, his head still resting on Olive's shoulder. She looked down upon him, his wasted face, his thin hand that, even in slumber, still clung helplessly to hers. What a tide of emotion swept through her heart! It seemed that therein was gathered up for him every tenderness that woman's soul could know. She loved him at once with the love of mother, sister, friend, and wife, loved him as those only can who have no other kindred tie, nothing in the whole wide world to love beside. She laid her cheek against his hair, but softly, lest she should waken him. I thought to have led a whole long, lonely life for thy sake, Harold, and I would have led it, without murmuring, either against heaven or thee, knowing my own unworthiness. But since it is not

Starting point is 13:19:45 to be so, I will give thee instead a whole life of faithful love, a wife's love, such as never was wife's before. And then, over long years, her fancy went back, discerning how all things had worked together to this end. She saw how patience had ripened into hope and suffering into joy. Not one step of the whole weary way had been trodden in vain. Not one thorn had pierced her feet that had not, while entering there, distilled a saving balm. traveling over many scenes her memory beheld harold as in those early days when her influence and her prayers had changed his heart and led him from darkness to light again as in the first bitterness of her love for him when continually he tortured her never dreaming of the wounds he gave and once more as in the

Starting point is 13:20:37 time when knowing her fate she had calmly prepared to meet it and tried to make herself a true friend unto him. He so unresponsive, cold and stern. Remembering him thus, she looked at him as he lay, turning for rest and comfort to her, only her. Once more she kissed his forehead as he slept, and then her lips uttered the words with which Mrs. Flora had blessed her. "'Oh, God, I thank thee, for thou hast given me my heart's desire.' Soon after Mrs. Gwynn entered the room, but no blush came to Olive's cheek. Too solemn was her joy. Hush, she whispered, do not wake him.

Starting point is 13:21:19 He loves me. I know it now. You will not be angry. I have loved him always. I knew it, Olive. Harold's mother stood a long time in silence. Heaven only knows what struggle there might have been in her heart, so bound up as it was in him, her only child.

Starting point is 13:21:39 Ere it ended he awoke. Mother. Is not that, my mother. Yes, Mrs. Gwynn answered. She went up and kissed them both, first her son and afterwards Olive. Then, without speaking, she quitted the room, leaving them alone together. End of Chapter 47. Chapter 48 of Olive. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Olive by Dina Maria Crake. Chapter 48. It was a Sunday afternoon, not bright but dull. All the long day the low clouds had been dropping freshness down, the soft May rain, which

Starting point is 13:22:25 falls warm and silent, as if the spring were weeping itself away for very gladness. Through the open window came the faint odor which the earth gives forth during rain, an odor of bursting leaves and dew-covered flowers. On the lawn you could almost have seen the grass grow, and though the sky was dull and gray, still the whole air was so full of summer, so rich in the promise of what the next day would be, that you did not marvel to hear the birds singing as merrily as if it had been sunshine. There was one thrush to which Olive had stood listening for half an hour. He sat sheltered in the heart of the great syringa bush.

Starting point is 13:23:01 Though the rain kept dropping continually from its flowers, he poured out a song so long and merry that he even disturbed his friends in the parlor, the happy silent three, mother, son, and the sons betrothed. Mrs. Gwyn, who sat in the far corner, put down her book, the best book for Sunday and all other days, the only one she ever read now. Harold, still feeble, lying back in his armchair by the window, listened to the happy bird. Do you like to hear it, or shall I close the window? said Olive, coming towards him.

Starting point is 13:23:36 Nay, it does me good. Everything does me good now, he answered, smiling. And then he lay a long time, quietly looking on the garden and the misty view beyond. Olive sat, looking alone at him, watching him in that deep peace, that satisfied content with which our eyes drink in every lineament beloved, when all sorrow passed, the fullness of love has come. No need had she to seek his, as though asking restlessly, do you love me? In her own love's completeness she desired no demonstration of his. To her it was perfect joy only to sit near him and to look at his face, the face which, whether seen or remembered, shown distinct from every other face in the wide world, and had done so

Starting point is 13:24:21 from the first moment when it met her sight. Very calm and beautiful it was now, so beautiful that even his mother turned round and looked at him for a moment with dimmed eyes. You are sure you feel quite well today, I mean as well as usual, you are not sitting up too long or wearying yourself too much. Oh, no, mother, I think I could even exert myself more, but there is such sweetness in this dreamy life. I am so happy. It will be almost a pain to go back to the troublesome world again. Do not say so, my son. Indeed, we must have you quite well soon, the sooner the better, and then you will return to all your old duties. When I sat in church this morning, I was counting how many Sundays it would possibly be before I heard my son Harold's voice

Starting point is 13:25:07 there again. Harold moved restlessly. What say you, Olive, my dear, continued Mrs. Gwynne. will it not be a pleasure to hear him in his own pulpit again? How soon, thank you, will he be able to preach? I cannot tell, answered Olive, in a low voice, and she looked anxiously at her betrothed. For well she knew his heart, and well she guessed that though that heart was pure and open in the sight of God, and in her sight, it might not be so in that of every man. And although his faith was now the Christian faith, even in many points that of the church, Still Olive doubted whether he would ever be a Church of England minister again.

Starting point is 13:25:47 No wonder that she watched his face in anxious love, and then looked from him to his mother, who, all unconscious, continued to speak. In truth, all your parishioners will be glad to have you back. Even Mrs. Fledger was saying so yesterday, and noticing that it was a whole year since you had preached in your own church, a long absence. Of course it could not be helped. Still it was rather a pity. Please God it shall not happen again.

Starting point is 13:26:12 "'Shallet, Harold?' "'Mother. "'His hands were crushed together, "'and with a look of pain, "'Olive stole to his side. "'Perhaps we are talking too much. "'Shall we go away, Harold, and leave you to sleep.' "'Hush, Olive, hush,' he whispered.

Starting point is 13:26:28 "'I have thought of this before. "'I knew I must tell it to her. "'All the truth.' "'But not now. "'Not now. "'Wait till you are stronger. "'Wait a week, a day.' "'No, not an hour.

Starting point is 13:26:41 "'It is right.' "'What are you talking to my son about?' said Mrs. Gwyn, with a quick jealousy, which even yet was not altogether stilled. Neither of the betrothed spoke. "'You are not hiding anything from me, Harold, from me, your mother.' "'My mother, my noble self-denying mother,' murmured Harold, as if thinking aloud. "'Surely if I sinned for her, God will forgive me.' "'Sinned for me? What are you talking of, Harold?

Starting point is 13:27:10 Is there anything in your mind?' "'Anything I do not know.' "'And her eyes, still tender, yet with a half-formed suspicion, "'were fixed searchingly on her son. "'And when, as if to shield him even from his mother, "'Aolive leaned over him, Mrs. Gwyn's voice grew stern with reproof. "'Stand aside, Olive. Let me see his face. "'Not even you have a right to interpose between me and my son.'

Starting point is 13:27:35 "'Olive moved a little aside. "'Very meek was she, "'as one had need to be whom Mrs. Gwyn would call daughter, and Harold's wife. Yet by her meekness she had oftentimes controlled them both. She did so now. Olive, darling, whispered Harold, his eyes full of love. My mother says right. Let her come and sit by me a little. Nay, stay near though. I must have you in my sight. It will strengthen me. She pressed his hand and went away to the other end of the room. Then Harold said, tenderly, Mother, I want to tell you something. It is no misfortune, no sin.

Starting point is 13:28:12 "'Oh, my son, I am too old to bear either,' she answered, as she sat down, trembling a little. "'My own mother, my mother that I love, dearer now than ever in my life before, "'listen to me, and then judge me. "'Twelve or fourteen years ago there was a son, an only son, who had a noble mother. "'She had sacrificed everything for him. "'The time came when he had to sacrifice something for her. "'It was a point of conscience, light, perhaps, then, but still it caused him a struggle.

Starting point is 13:28:44 He must conquer it, and he did so. He stifled all scruples, pressed down all doubts, and became a minister of a church in whose faith he did not quite believe. Go on, said Mrs. Gwynn hurriedly. I had a fear once, a bitter fear, but no matter, go on. Well, he did this sin, for sin it was, though done for his mother's sake. He had better have supported her by the labor of his hands than have darkened his soul by a lie. but he did not think of that then.

Starting point is 13:29:14 All the fault was his, not his mothers. Mind, I say, not his mothers. She looked at him, and then looked away again. He could blame no one but himself. He never did, though his first faint doubts grew until they prisoned him like a black mist, through which he could see neither earth nor heaven. Men's natures are different.

Starting point is 13:29:34 His was not meant for that of a quiet village priest. Circumstances, associations, habits of mind, all were against him. him. And so his skepticism and his misery increased, until, in despair of heaven, he plunged into the oblivion of an earthly passion. He went mad for a woman's beauty, for her beauty only. Harold pressed his hand upon his brow, as if old memories stung him still. His betrothed saw it, but she felt no pain. She knew that her own love had shone down into his heart's dark depths, removing every stain, binding up every wound. By that love's great might she had saved him,

Starting point is 13:30:13 won him, and would have power to keep him evermore. Mother, Harold pursued. I must pass on quickly to the end. This man's one error seemed to cause all fate to rise against him, that he might become an infidel to God and to man. At last he had faith in no living soul except his mother. This alone saved him from being the vilest wretch that ever crawled, as he was already the most miserable. A faint groan, only one, broke from the depth of the mother's heart, but she never spoke. There was no escape. His pride shut out that.

Starting point is 13:30:47 So year after year he fulfilled his calling, and lived his life, honestly, morally, towards man at least, but towards heaven it was one long, awful lie. For he, a minister in God's temple, was in his heart an infidel. Harold stopped. In his strong excitement he had forgotten his mother. She, letting go his hand, glided to her knees. There she knelt for a long time, her lips moving silently. At last she rose, her grand figure lifted to its utmost height, her face very stern, her voice without one tone of tremulous age or mother's anguish. And this hypocrite in man's sight, this blasphemer in the face of God, is my son, Harold?

Starting point is 13:31:32 Was, but is not, never will be more. Oh, mother, have mercy, for heaven. has had mercy, too. I am no skeptic now. I believe, I, fervently and humbly believe. Mrs. Gwyn uttered a great cry and fell on his neck. Never since the time when he was a child in her arms had he received such a passionate clasp, an embrace mingled with weeping that shook the whole frame of the aged mother. For a moment she licked her head, murmured a thanksgiving for the son who, was dead and alive again, was lost and found, and then she cliqued her. She looked at her head, to him once more. Olive kept aloof, until, seeing what a ghastly paleness was coming over the face of her betrothed, she came and stood beside him, saying,

Starting point is 13:32:17 "'Do not talk more. You are too weak. Let me tell the rest.' "'You there, Olive? Go. Leave my son to me. You have no part here.' But Harold held his betrothed fast. "'Nay, mother, take her and bless her, for it was she who saved your son.' and then in a few broken words he told the rest of the tale told it so that not even his mother could be wounded by the thought of a secret known to olive and concealed from her of an influence that over her son was more powerful than her own afterwards when olive's arms were round her neck and olive's voice was heard imploring pardon for both her whole heart melted within her solemnly she blessed her sons betrothed and called her daughter now my herald she said when all trace of emotion having passed from either she sat quietly by her son's side now i understand all olive is right with your love of action and a spirit that would perhaps find a limitation in the best forms of belief "'You never can be again a minister of the English church.

Starting point is 13:33:20 "'We must not think of it any more. "'But, Mother, how shall we live? "'That is what tortures me. "'Wither shall we turn if we go from Harbury? "'Alone I could bear anything, but you. "'No matter for me. "'My Harold,' she added, a little moved, "'if you had trusted me,

Starting point is 13:33:37 "'and told me your sufferings at any time all these years, "'I would have given up everything here "'and lived as I once did "'when you were a youth at college. "'It was not hard then, nor would it have been now. Oh, my son, you did not half know your mother. He looked at her, and slowly, slowly there rose in his eyes,

Starting point is 13:33:56 those clear, proud, manly eyes, two great crystal tears. He was not ashamed of them. He let them gather and fall. And Olive loved him dearer, I ten thousand times, even though these tears, the first and last she ever beheld him shed, were given not to her, but to his mother. Mrs. Gwynne resumed. Let us think what we must do, for we have no time to lose.

Starting point is 13:34:21 As soon as you are quite strong, you must give up the curacy, and we will leave Harbury. Leave Harbury, your dear old home from which you have often said you could never part. Oh, mother, mother! It is nothing. Do not think of it, my son. Afterwards, what must you do? I cannot tell. Olive, think for me, said Harold, looking helplessly towards her. "'Aulive advised, timidly at first, but growing firmer as she proceeded,

Starting point is 13:34:49 "'that he should carry out his old plan of going to America. "'They talked over the project for a long time, until it grew matured. "'Eere the afternoon closed it was finally decided on, "'at least so far as Harold's yet doubtful health permitted. "'But I shall grow strong now, I know. "'Mother, Olive, my heart is lightened of the load of years.' "'And truly it seemed so. "'Nay, when tea-time came, he even,

Starting point is 13:35:14 and rose and walked across the room with something of his old firm step, as if the returning health were strong within him. After tea, Harbury bells broke out in their evening chime. Mrs. Gwynn rose. Olive asked if she were thinking of going to church. Yes, to thank God. Go with her, Olive, said Harold, as he watched his mother from the room. Olive followed, but Mrs. Gwyn said she would rather go to church alone, and Harold must not be left. Olive stayed with her a few minutes, rendering all those little services which youth can so sweetly pay to age. And sweet too was the reward when Harold's mother kissed her, and once more called her daughter.

Starting point is 13:35:53 So, full of content, she went downstairs to her betrothed. Harold was again sitting in his favorite armchair by the window. The rain had lately ceased, and just at the horizon there had come to the heavy gray sky a golden fringe, a line of watery light so dazzling that the eye could scarcely bear it. It filled the whole room And fell like a glory on Harold's head Olive stood still to look at him

Starting point is 13:36:18 Coming closer she saw that he was not asleep Though his eyes were cast down in painful thought Something in his expression reminded her of that Which she had worn on the night when he first came to Edinburgh And she had leaned over him, longing to comfort him As she had now a right to do She did so He felt the kiss on his brow and smiled

Starting point is 13:36:37 Little Olive Good little Olive she always comes when I most need her," he said fondly. "'Little Olive is very happy and so doing. And now tell me what you were thinking of, that you pressed your lips together and knotted your forehead. The broad, beautiful forehead that I love. It was not good of you, my Herald.'

Starting point is 13:36:57 "'Do not jest, Olive, I cannot. If I go abroad I must go alone. What will become of my mother and Ely?' "'They shall stay and comfort me. Nay, you will not forbid it. How could I go on with my painting, living all alone?' "'Aye, there is another sting,' he answered. "'Not one word, say you, but I feel it.

Starting point is 13:37:18 "'How many years you may have still to work on alone!' "'Do you think I fear that? "'Nay, I do not give my heart like some women I have known, "'from dread of living to be an old maid, "'or to gain a house, a name, and a husband. "'I gave it for love, pure love. "'If I were to wait for years, "'if I were never your wife at all,

Starting point is 13:37:38 "'but died only your betrothed, "'still I should die satisfied. O, Harold, you know not how sweet it is to love you, and be loved by you, to share all your cares and rejoice in all your joys. Indeed, indeed I am content. You might, my gentle one, but not I. Little you think how strong is man's pride, how stronger still is man's love. We will not look to such a future. I could not bear it. If I go, you shall go with me, my wife. "'Poor or not, what care I, so you are mine.' He spoke hurriedly, like the proud Harold of old. I, the pride, mingled with a stronger passion still, but Olive smiled both down.

Starting point is 13:38:20 "'Herald,' she said, parting his hair with her cool, soft hands, "'do not be angry with me. You know I love you dearly. Sometimes I think I must have loved you before you loved me long, yet I am not ashamed of this.' "'Ah,' he muttered, "'How often ignorantly I must have made you suffer. "'How often, blindly struggling with my own pride, have I tortured you. "'But still, still I loved you.

Starting point is 13:38:46 "'Forgive me, dear.' "'Nay, there is nothing to forgive. "'The joy has blotted out all the pain. "'It shall do so when you are once mine. "'That must be soon, Olive. "'Soon.' "'She answered firmly, though a little blushing the while. "'It should be to-morrow, if for your good,

Starting point is 13:39:03 "'but it would not be. "'You must not be. be troubled with worldly cares. To see you so would break my heart. No, you must be free to work and gain fame and success. My love shall never fetter you down to anxious poverty. I regard your glory even dearer than yourself, you see. Gradually she led him to consent to her entreaty, that they should both work together for their dearest ones, and that in the home which she with her slender means could win, there should ever be a resting-place for Mrs. Gwynne and for little Ely. Then they put aside all anxious talk, and sat in the twilight, with clasped hands, speaking

Starting point is 13:39:39 softly and brokenly, or else never speaking at all, only feeling that they were together, they too, who were all and all to each other, while the whole world of life went whirling outside, never touching that sweet center of complete repose. At last, Olive's full heart ran over. Oh, Harold, she cried, this happiness is almost more than I can bear. To think of it. that you should love me thus. Me, poor little olive. Sometimes I feel, as I once bitterly felt, how unworthy I am of you. Darling, why? Because I have no beauty, and besides, I cannot speak it, but you know, you know. She hid her face burning with blushes. The words and act revealed how deeply in her heart laid the sting which had at times tortured her her whole life through.

Starting point is 13:40:29 shame for that personal imperfection with which nature had marked her from her birth, and which, forgotten in an hour by those who learned to love her, still seemed to herself a perpetual humiliation. The pang came, but only for the last time, Errit quitted her heart forever. Four, dispelling all doubts, healing all wounds, fell the words of her betrothed husband, tender, though grave. "'Olive, if you love me and believe that I love you, Never grieve me by such thoughts again. To me you are all beautiful, in heart and mind, in form and soul. Then, as if silently to count up her beauties, he kissed her little hands, her soft smiling mouth,

Starting point is 13:41:14 her long gold curls. And Olive hid her face in his breast, murmuring, I am content, since I am fair in your sight, my herald, my only love. End of Chapter 48 Chapter 49 of Olive This Libervox recording is in the public domain Olive by Dinah Maria Crake Chapter 49 Late autumn, that season so beautiful in Scotland

Starting point is 13:41:50 was shining into the house at Morningside She, its mistress, who had there lived from middle life to far extended years and then passed from the weakness of age to the renewed youth of immortality, was seen no more within its walls. But her spirit seemed to abide there still, in the flowers which at early spring she had planted for other hands to gather, in the fountain she had placed,

Starting point is 13:42:15 which sang its song of murmuring freshness to soothe many in ear and heart, when she, walking by the streams of living waters, needed those of earth no more. Mrs. Flora Rothsay was dead, but she had lived one of those holy lives whose influence remains for generations. So, though now her name had gradually ceased from familiar lips, and from her house and garden walks, her image faded slowly in the thoughts of those who best loved her. Still she lived, even on earth, in the good deeds she had left behind, in the happiness she had created, wherever her own sore, wounded footsteps trod. In the dwelling from which she had departed there seemed little change.

Starting point is 13:42:56 Everything looked as it had done more than a year before, when Olive had come thither and found rest in peace. There were fewer flowers in the autumnal garden, and the hermitage woods beyond were all brown and gold. But there was the same clear line of the braid hills, their purple slopes lying in the early morning sun. No one looked at them, though, for the breakfast room was empty. But very soon their stole into it, with the soft footstep of old, with the same quiet smile, Olive Rothsay. No, reader, neither you nor anyone else will ever see Olive Roth say more. She wears on her finger a golden ring. She bears a new name, the well-beloved name. She is Harold Gwyn's wife now. To their fortunes heaven allowed, as heaven sometimes does, the sweetness of a brave resolve,

Starting point is 13:43:45 the joy of finding that it is not needed. Scarcely had all of the moment. Olive and her betrothed prepared to meet their future and go on, faithfully loving, though perhaps unwedded for years, when a change came. They learned that Mrs. Flora Rothsay, by a will made a little before her death, had devised her whole fortune to Harold, on condition that he should take the name of his ancestors on the mother's side and be henceforth Harold Gordon Gwynne. She made no reservations, save that she wished her house and personal property at Morningside to go to her grand-nace, Olive, adding in the will the following sentence, I leave her this and no more, that she may understand how deeply I reverenced her true woman's

Starting point is 13:44:29 nature, and how dearly I loved herself. And Olive did understand all, but she hid the knowledge in her rejoicing heart, both then and always. It was the only secret she ever kept from her husband. She had been married some weeks only, yet she felt as if the old life had been years gone by, so faint and dreamlike did it seem. Hers was a very quiet marriage, a quiet honeymoon, fit crowning of a love which had been so solemn, almost sad from its beginning to its end. Its end, say rather its new dawn, its fulfillment in a deeper, holier bond than is ever dreamed of by girlish sentiment or boyish passion, the still, sacred love of marriage. And however your modern infidels may doubt, and your free-thinking hard.

Starting point is 13:45:18 Desecrators scoff, that is the true love, the tie which God created from the beginning, making man and woman to be one flesh and pronouncing it good. It is good. None can question it who sees the look of peace and full contentment, a look whose like one never beholds in the wide world save then, as it sits smiling on the face of a bride who has married for true love. Very rare it is, indeed. Rare as such marriages ever are, but one sees it sometimes. "'We saw it, reader, a while since, on a young wife's face, "'and it made us think of little olive in her happy home at Morningside. "'She stood by the window for a minute or two,

Starting point is 13:45:59 "'her artist's soul drinking in all that was beautiful in the scene. "'Then she went about her little household duties, already grown so sweet. "'She took care that Mrs. Gwyn's easy-chair was placed in its proper angle by the fire, "'and that Harold had beside his plate the great, ugly, scientific book, which she always liked to read at breakfast. Indeed, it was a saying of Marion McGillivray's, from whose bonny face the cloud had altogether passed, leaving only a thoughtful gravity meet

Starting point is 13:46:28 for a girl who would shortly leave her maiden home for one far dearer. Marion often said that Mr. Gwynne was trying to make his wife as learned as himself, and that his influence was robbing their Scottish academy of no one knew how many grand pictures. Perhaps it might be. It was a natural and a womanly thing, thing, that in her husband's fame Olive should almost forget her own. When she had seen all things ready, Olive went away upstairs, and stood by a child's bed, little Ily's. Not the least

Starting point is 13:46:59 sweet of all her new ties was it, that Harold's daughter was now her own, and tender, like a mother's, was the kiss with which she wakened the child. There was in her hand a book, a birthday gift, for Ely was nine years old that day. Oh, how good you are to me, my son. My son. "'Sweet dear new mama!' cried the happy little one, "'clinging round Olive's neck. "'What a pretty, pretty book! "'And you have written in it my name, Ely.' "'But,' she added, after a shy pause,

Starting point is 13:47:30 "'I wish, if you do not mind, "'that you would put there my whole long name, "'which I am just learning to write. "'That I will, my pet. "'Come, tell me what shall I say, word for word. "'Alison?' "'Yes, that is it. "'My beautiful long name.'

Starting point is 13:47:46 which I like so much though no one ever calls me by it. Allison, Sarah, Gwynne. Sarah! Did they call you Sarah? said Olive, letting her pen fall. She took the little girl in her arms and looked long and wistfully into the large oriental eyes, so like those which death had long sealed. And her tears rose, remembering the days of her youth. How strange!

Starting point is 13:48:12 How very strange had been her whole life's current, even until now! She thought of her who was no more, whose place she filled, whose slighted happiness was to herself the summit of all joy. But heaven had so willed it, and to that end had made all things tend. It was best for all. One moment her heart melted, thinking of the garden at Old Church, the thorn tree at the river-side, and afterwards of the long-closed grave at Harbury, over which the grass waved in forgotten silence.

Starting point is 13:48:43 Then, pressing Ely to her bosom, she was a little bit of her bosom, she was a little bit of her, she was a She resolved that while her own life lasted, she would be a faithful and most loving mother unto poor Sarah's child. A mother! The word brought back, as it often did when Harold's daughter called her by that name, another memory, never forgotten, though sealed among the holy records of the past. Even on her marriage day the thought had come, O thou, to whom in life I gave all love, all duty, now needed by thee no more, both pass unto him.

Starting point is 13:49:15 If souls can behold and rejoice in the happiness of those beloved on earth, Mother, look down from heaven and bless my husband. Nor did it wrong the dead, if this marriage bond involved another, which awakened in Olive's feelings that seemed almost a renewal of the love once buried in Mrs. Rothsay's grave, and Harold's wife inly vowed that while she lived, his mother should never want the devotion and affection of a daughter. In the past fading memories of Olive's former life was one more, which now grew into a duty, over whose fulfillment, even amidst her bridal happiness she pondered continually, and talked

Starting point is 13:49:54 thereof to her husband, to whom it was scarcely less absorbing. Since they came home to Morningside, they had constantly sought at St. Margaret's for news of Crystal Manors. Many times Olive had written to her, but no answer came. The silence of the convent walls seemed to fold itself. over all revelations of the tortured spirit which had found refuge there. However, Crystal had taken no vows. Mrs. Flora and Harold had both been rigid on that point,

Starting point is 13:50:23 and the good nuns reverenced their order too much to admit anyone who might have sought it from the impulse of despair rather than from any pious vocation. Olive's heart yearned over her sister. On this day she resolved to make one more effort to break the silence between them. So, in the afternoon, she went to the convent quite alone, walking through the pleasant lanes where she had formerly walked with Marion McGillivray. Strange contrast between the present and the past.

Starting point is 13:50:52 When she stood in the little convent parlor, and remembered how she had stood there with a bursting heart that longed for any rest, any oblivion to deaden its cruel pain, Olive trembled with her happiness now, and she felt how solemn is the portion of those whose cup God has thus crowned, in order that they may pour it out before him continually, in offerings of thanksgiving and of fruitful deeds. Sister Ignatia entered, the same bright-eyed, benevolent, simple soul. Ah, you are come again this week, too, my dear Mrs. Harold Gwyn. I can hardly remember your new name even yet, but I fear you are coming as vain, though

Starting point is 13:51:32 day after day I beseech your sister to see you. "'She will not, then,' said Olive, sighing. "'No, yet she says she has no bitterness against you. "'How could she? "'However I ask no questions, for the past is all forgotten here. "'And I love the poor young creature. "'Oh, if you knew her fasts, her vigils, and her prayers! "'God and the Holy Mother pity her,

Starting point is 13:51:55 "'poor broken-hearted thing,' said the compassionate nun. "'Speak to her once more. "'Do not tell her I am here, only speak of me to her. said Olive, and she waited anxiously until Sister Ignatia came back. She says she is glad you are happy and married to that good friend of hers, to whom she owes so much, but that she is dead to the world and wishes to hear of no one anymore. Still, when I told her you lived at Morningside, she began to tremble. I think, I hope if she were to see you suddenly before she had time to reflect, only not now,

Starting point is 13:52:30 you look so agitated yourself. No, no, I can always. be calm at will. I have long learned that. Your plan is kind. Let it be today. It may end in good, please God. Where is my dear sister? She is sitting in the dormitory of the convent school. She stays a great deal with our little girls and takes much care of them, especially of some orphans that we have. Olive sighed. Well, she read Unhappy Crystal's reason. But it showed some softening of the stony heart. Almost hopeful she followed Sister Ignatia to the dormitory. It was a long, narrow room, lined with tiny white beds.

Starting point is 13:53:10 Over its pure neatness good fairies might have continually presided. Through it swept the fresh air coming from the open window which overlooked the garden, and there, darkening it with her tall black shadow, stood the only present occupant of the room, crystal manners. She wore a garb half secular, half religious. Her black serge dress betrayed no attention to fashion, scarcely even to neatness. Her beautiful hair was all put back under a white linen veil,

Starting point is 13:53:39 and her whole appearance showed that last bitter change in a woman's nature when she ceases to have a woman's instinctive personal pride. Olive saw not her face, except the cheeks outline, worn to the straightness of age. Nor did Crystal observe Olive until she had approached quite close. Then she gave a wild start, the old angry flush mounted to her temples and sank. "'Why did you come here?' she said hoarsely. "'I sent you word I wished to see no one, "'that I was utterly dead to the world.'

Starting point is 13:54:11 "'But not to me. Oh, not to me, my sister.' "'Sister!' she repeated with flashing eyes, "'and then crossed herself humbly, muttering, "'the evil spirit must not rise again. "'Help me, blessed mother, good saints, help me!' "'She told her rosary over once, twice, and then turned to Olive, subdued. "'Now say what you have to say to me.

Starting point is 13:54:36 "'I told you I had no anger in my heart. "'I even asked your forgiveness. "'I only desire to be left alone, "'to spend the rest of my bitter life in penance and prayer. "'But I cannot leave you, my sister. "'I wish you would not call me so, "'nor take my hand, nor look at me as you do now, "'as you did the first night I saw you,

Starting point is 13:54:57 "'and again on that awful, awful day.' "'And Crystal sank back on that. on one of the little beds, the thornless pillow where some happy child slept, and they sobbed bitterly. More than once she motioned Olive away, but Olive would not go. Do not send me away, if you knew how I suffer daily from the thought of you. You suffer, happy as they tell me you are, you with your home and your husband. Ah, Crystal, even my husband grieves, my husband who would do anything in the whole world for your peace.

Starting point is 13:55:30 "'You have forgotten Harold.' "'A softness came over Crystal's face. "'No, I have not forgotten him. "'Day and night I pray for him "'who saved more than my life, my soul. "'For that deed may God bless him, "'and God pardon me.' "'She said this, shuddering, too,

Starting point is 13:55:48 "'as at some awful memory. "'After a while she spoke to Olive in a gentler tone, "'for the first time lifting her eyes to her sister's face. "'You seem well in health, "'and you have a peaceful look. I am glad of it. I am glad you are happy and married to Harold Gwynne. He told me of his love for you. But he could not tell you all. If I am happy I have suffered too. We must all suffer some time, but suffering ends in time. Not with me, not with me, but I desire not to talk of

Starting point is 13:56:20 myself. Shall I talk then about your friend Harold, your brother? He told me to say he would ever be so to you, said Olive, striving to awaken Crystal sympathies. And she partly succeeded, for her sister listened quietly and with some show of interest, while she spoke of Harold and of their dear home. It is so near you, too. We can hear the convent bells when we walk in our pretty garden. You must come and see it, Crystal. No. No, I have rest here. I will never go beyond these walls. As soon as I am twenty-one I shall become a nun, and then, and I, with all my sorrows, will be buried out of sight forever more. So said she, and Olive did not contradict her at the time.

Starting point is 13:57:06 But she thought that if there was any strength in faithful affection and earnest prayers, the peace of a useful life, spent, not in barren solitude, but in the fruitful garden of God's world, should be Crystal's portion yet. One only doubt troubled her. After considering for a long time she ventured to say, I have told you now nearly all that has happened among us this year. You have spoken of all your friends, save one. She hesitated, and at last uttered the name of Lyle.

Starting point is 13:57:36 Hush, said Crystal, but her cheek's paleness changed not. Her heavy eye neither kindled nor drooped. Hush! I do not wish to hear that name. It has passed out of my world forever, blotted out by the horrors that followed. Then you have forgotten? Forgotten all. It was but a dream of my old vain life.

Starting point is 13:57:57 It troubles me no more. Thank God, murmured Olive, though in her heart she marveled to think how many false reflections there were of the one true love, the only love that can endure, such as had been hers. She bade an affectionate farewell to her sister,

Starting point is 13:58:14 who went with her to the outer court of the convent. Crystal did not ask her to come again, but she kissed her when they parted, and once looked back, ere she again passed into the quiet, silent home which she had chosen as her spirit's grave. Olive walked on quickly, for the afternoon was closing. Very soon she heard overtaking her a footstep, whose sound quickened her pulse even now. How good and thoughtful of him! My dear Harold! My husband! My husband! Never did she say or think

Starting point is 13:58:46 the words, but her heart swelled with inexpressible emotion, remembering the old time, the long, silent struggle, the wasting pain. yet she would have borne it all a thousand times. I, even had the end come never in her life on earth, rather than not have known the sweetness of loving, the glory of loving one like him. Harold met her with a smile. I have been waiting long.

Starting point is 13:59:11 I could not let my little Olive walk home alone. She who had walked through the world alone for so many weary years, but she would never do so any more. She clung to her husband's arm, clasping over it both her little hands in a sweet caressing way, and so they went on together. Olive told him all the good news she had to tell, and he rejoiced with her for Crystal's sake. He agreed that there was hope and comfort for their sister still, for he could not believe there was in the whole world a heart so hard and cold that it could not be melted by

Starting point is 13:59:44 Olive's gentle influence, and warmed by the shining of Olive's spirit of love. They were going home, when she saw that her husband looked tired, and dull. He had been pouring over his books all day. For though now independent of the world, as regarded fortune, he could not relinquish his scientific pursuits, but was every day adding to his acquirements, and to the fame which had been his when only a poor clergyman at Harboury. So, without saying anything, Olive led him down the winding road that leads from Edinburgh towards the Braid Hills, laughing and talking with him the while, to send the cobwebs out of his brain, as she often told him.

Starting point is 14:00:22 Though at the time she never let him see how skillfully she did this, lest his man's dignity should revolt at being so lovingly beguiled. For he was still as ever the very quintessence of pride. Well, for him his wife had not that quality, yet perhaps she loved him all the better for possessing it. At the gate of the hermitage, Harold paused. Neither of them had seen the place since they last stood there. At the remembrance he seemed greatly moved.

Starting point is 14:00:50 His wife looked lovingly up to him. Harold, are you content? You would not send me from you. You would not wish to live your whole life without me now. No, no, he cried, pressing her hand close to his heart. The mute gesture said enough. Olive desired no more. They walked on a long way, even climbing to the summit of the braid hills.

Starting point is 14:01:15 The night was coming on fast, the stormy night of early winter, for the wind had risen and swept howling over the heathery ridge. But I have my plaid here, and you will not mind the cold, my lassie, Scottish-born, said Harold to his wife, and in his own cheek, now brown with health, rose the fresh mountain blood, while the bold mountain spirit shone in his fearless eyes. No marveled that Olive looked with pride at her husband, and thought that not in the whole world was there such another man. "'I glory in the wind,' cried Harold,

Starting point is 14:01:49 "'tossing back his head and shaking his wavy hair, "'something lion-like. "'It makes me strong and bold. "'I love to meet it, to wrestle with it, "'to feel myself in spirit and frame, "'stern to resist, daring to achieve, "'as a man should feel. "'And on her part, Olive, with her clinging sweetness,

Starting point is 14:02:09 "'her upward gaze, was a type of true woman. "'I think,' Harold continued, "'that there is a full, rich life before me yet. I will go forth and rejoice therein, and if misfortune come I will meet it, thus. He planted his foot firmly on the ground, lifted his proud head, and looked out fearlessly with his majestic eyes. "'And I,' said Olive, thus, she stole her two little cold hands under his plaid, laid her head upon them, close to his heart, and smiling nestled there. And the loud, fierce wind,

Starting point is 14:02:46 swept by, but it harmed not them, thus warm and safe in love. So they stood, true man and woman, husband and wife, ready to go through the world without fear, trusting in each other, and looking up to heaven to guide their way. End of Chapter 49. End of Olive by Dinah Maria Crake.

Classic Audiobook Collection - Olive by Dinah Maria Craik ~ Full Audiobook [romance]

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