Bright Arrows (16 page)

But at last he seemed to come to the end of his tale. He looked at her proudly, ready to receive her praise. This really was what he had come for the first time he called on her. He wanted her flattery, her exclamations of wonder and delight in his bravery, and she had not once interrupted him. He looked up now to receive his due.

Then he found he was looking into an extended silence and that instead of praising his courage she was merely watching him sadly, studying him, as one would look with troubled gaze at something that used to be of value but had somehow become ruined. At last, just as he was growing very uneasy and almost impatient, she spoke:

"And do you mean to tell me, Caspar, that you went through all that terror and awfulness without once calling on God or wanting His help?"

"Help!" screamed Caspar scornfully. "Why should I want help? I had to be my own help. I was trained, wasn't I, to fly and shoot, and to work all the tricks we were supposed to work on the enemy? It was up to me, not God. I didn't need any help but myself, and why should I cry out to a God I didn't believe in? When I first went into the army, I was thrown with a lot of fellows who were outstanding guys. They didn't believe in God. They said it was sissy to believe in such things. When you went into danger, you were up against danger
yourself
and had to make
your own
way out of it. To tell you the truth, if I had called on anybody for help, I would more likely have called on the devil for help than God. If there was a God who could have helped me, why did He let me get into such awful straits, I ask you?"

"Perhaps to show you how much you needed Him. Perhaps to make you turn to Him. You once chose God to be your Guide and Helper."

"Oh, well, I got over all that nonsense long ago."

"You mean, you are serving the devil now?" asked Eden.

"Perhaps," he answered with a grin, "but forget it. The war is over, and I've got a good line on a successful job for myself where I can get rich quick, and we could get married; and if you'd promise to quit preaching, you and I could have a swell life, going out among 'em and making up for all the dull life you've lived so far. You'd be surprised how happy I could make you if you'd just give up this line and be a bit lighthearted. Of course, not just now, so soon after a funeral in the family. But by the time I'm out of the army and back home and well into my job, I want you to be ready when I call."

Eden did not smile. She only looked at him sadly.

"No, Caspar," she said solemnly. "I have no desire for a life like that. And I could never marry you, knowing how you feel about my Lord and the things of life that are the most precious to me. And anyway, Caspar, there is more to marriage than just having a swell time. I do not love you and have no desire to marry you. I am only sorry that you have lost the faith I used to think you had, and I shall pray that God will sometime draw you back to Him. But that is all. You and I do not belong together anymore, even as friends, since you have turned away from all that I hold most dear."

A thundercloud settled down over the weak, handsome face and made him look more than ever like a frustrated, naughty boy. At last he spoke:

"What does this mean, Eden? Is there some other guy you've been going around with since I went away? Somebody you think you are engaged to? Because if there is, I'll
kill
him. I
swear
I will. I've always considered that you belonged to me, and always would, and you can't cheat me out of my rights. I won't stand for it."

Eden's face suddenly froze into haughtiness.

"That is no way for you to talk to me, Caspar," she said in her coldest voice. "I have never belonged to you in any way, and you know it. Our friendship was only a childish one; we were just playmates, even when I thought you were a good man. And now that you so evidently are serving the devil, I don't feel that I care to see you again. It would not be even pleasant anymore."

"You mean that you are engaged to someone else? Some sissy of a guy who didn't have the nerve to go to war? Who is he? I'll go out and find him and make him understand you belong to me. What's his name? I demand to know it."

Eden was very quiet and steady as she answered.

"I'm not engaged to anybody, Caspar, and I have not been running around with anybody. I haven't had time. But I see no reason why it should be anything to you if I did. And now I think we have talked enough, and I wish you would go. I don't like the Caspar you have become. Good-bye!"

Eden turned to go out of the room, but Caspar hurried to intercept her before she reached the door.

"Aw, ferget it, Eden. Don't go off that way again. This is ridiculous! You never useta be like this!"

"Neither did you, Caspar. You have gone back on all that means life to me, and I can't be friends with you anymore. Good-bye." And Eden went and stood by the front door to show him out.

The young man stood miserable with downcast eyes, which he lifted only to look her over--the slim, charming figure, the lovely eyes that had so often smiled at him, the pretty hands clasped so determinedly as he had so often seen them for some mutual scheme of theirs as children--and Caspar was wondering how he came to forget how swell she was and why he hadn't been writing to her all these months. That would have fixed her as his, and she wouldn't have been so likely to get all these antique religious ideas.

"Eden!" he pleaded. "At least you'll kiss me good-bye!" And he made as if to come nearer, but Eden backed away.

"No!" she cried. "Please go away!"

And then a stern old Scotch voice was heard behind them: Janet coming as fast as her feet could carry her in spite of arthritis that troubled her now and again.

"Did ye call me, my leddy? I'm coomin'."

"Yes, Janet," said Eden sweetly. "Please open the door for Mr. Carvel. He has to leave!" And Eden vanished up the stairs, leaving Caspar Carvel to make a dejected way out of the house, evicted for the second time from the place where he had supposed he would always be welcome.

Then Eden went up to her room and flung herself down on her knees with her face in the pillow and cried to her new Lord.

"Oh, Lord, I didn't listen for Thy leading. I let my own anger rise, and I said angry things that were in my heart instead of following Thy Spirit. Oh, forgive me! I should have said something that would make him understand how wonderful You are, and I didn't in the least convince him, I'm sure. Oh, Lord, please take over, and somehow bring him to a place where he will understand."

Just then her telephone rang, and much distraught, with tears on her cheeks, Eden jumped up and answered it.

"Yes?" she said, struggling to steady her perturbed voice. And then she recognized Caspar's voice.

"Oh!" she said. "Oh!" remembering she must follow the leading from above.

"Eden," almost humbly, "I'm sorry I made you angry again. I really didn't mean to, and I apologize. But I want to ask you to promise me one thing: promise me that you'll never get engaged to anyone else without letting me know right away. I might change again and get to be what you want, but it wouldn't be fair to me to string me along for years thinking I was doing it for you and then have you stand me up afterward."

Eden was very still for a minute for she could feel her anger rising, but this was where she must hand herself over to her Guide. A moment more and her voice was steady, clear, and she knew just what to say:

"Caspar, there is just one thing I'll promise you, and I will not promise anything else. I promise to pray for you, that you may somehow get to know God. Good night."

Then she hung up, and Caspar, angry and chastened in spirit, went on his devious way back to the world that had led him away from the path where he had started.

And Eden went back to her prayers and wondered if a prayer uttered from an angry heart could ever help to bring Caspar back to the right way. Then she wondered if he had ever been in the right way at all and whether perhaps her beloved father had seen this. Perhaps that had been one of the reasons why he planned trips to take her away from this boy's companionship.

She saw now what Caspar had become, as she might have seen before if she had not been so interested in having the good times with him that he seemed always able to plan. She saw it now and was thankful that God had made it plain to her before she was led into a return of the friendship that might have been a real danger to her. For now as she thought things over calmly, perhaps with the enlightenment of the inward Guide, she realized that she had been looking forward greatly to the return of her old-time playmate. Now she knew that he could never be her old-time friend again. Even if he should change as he suggested, she had lost the sense that he was fine and wonderful, which she had when he went away. But it did make her heart a little sore to look at the fact in the face and see that she had no old friend to cherish. He was gone out of her life and could never come back. She would pray for him, yes, but she would leave him in God's hands. It would perhaps not be a prayer of much faith, for Caspar had proved to her tonight more than ever that there was not much there to build any hope upon, and it would be only God who could ever make anything of Caspar Carvel. Perhaps He could. Of course He could, for He was all powerful, but she was sure no words of hers ever could.

When she lay down to rest that night, somehow a great burden rolled away from her, and she began to wonder if she had been carrying her disappointment in her old friend about, as a burden on her heart. At least it was now gone. She had laid him definitely in God's hands.

As she dropped away to sleep, some pleasant words of Lorrimer's came back to mind, and the look in his eyes as he spoke them gave her a happy thought to drive other worries away. Life was changing for her. It was inevitable that it should change when her dear father was taken away, but she had not been prepared to have the very foundations of her childhood swept away from under her. New friends, new experiences! Frightening occurrences. Mr. Worden was still at hand, and his pleasant new lawyer. That was nice. Janet was still there, bless her, and Tabor was getting well, thank the Lord for that! And she had a new Lord. She could go on from there and live out her life as God would plan. She need not be afraid, even of Ellery Fane and his silly scheming mother.

And so she slept.

 

And the next day there arrived in Glencarroll three sisters from California, cousins of Eden's mother. Three women of the world who were neither old nor young, just enough older than Eden to assume to advise her, just enough younger than her mother had been to pass for semi-companions for a girl alone in the world, just well enough off financially to realize what it would mean for them to have a young girl, financially independent and generously inclined, under their care and patronage.

They went at once to Glencarroll Hotel and called up on the telephone to make their presence known, probably hoping to be at once welcomed to the hospitable Thurston home.

Eden had never known them intimately. There had been occasional letters back and forth during her father's lifetime, and once Eden had spent three days at their home in California, but she did not feel that they would be an asset to her life at this time; and so when they called up and expressed their sympathy in her recent sorrow, she thanked them and explained that Tabor, their old servant, had been very ill, and it just wasn't convenient at present for her to ask anyone to visit them, but she would run over and see them within a couple of hours and find out their plans.

When she had hung up, she sat down and thought over what the coming of these unwanted relatives was going to mean to her. It was obvious that she should not invite them to visit her at present, not with Tabor sick and so much for the servants to do. Besides, she was in no mood for taking them around to see the sights, as she knew they would wish to do. Here was a situation that would have to be trusted in the hands of the Lord.

So she dressed very soberly and went to the hotel.

The cousins were most effusive, and they said they had come to get her and take her home with them. They had talked it all over and decided that would be best for her, to get away from all sorrowful surroundings, where she would be more or less bound to live a quiet life for some time, here among her father's friends. So they had dropped everything and come after her, before she had had time to make any other plans.

They were very voluble, and each took up the tale when the other left off, until they had placed before her all their plans for showing her a pleasant winter and making a permanent home for her in their company.

Eden hoped that her telltale face did not make too plain how she would
not
like to accept their invitation, and how she would hate to live with them. But she kept a smile and waited until they had laid before her their whole plan, and then she pleasantly undertook to answer.

"It is very sweet of you to try to make nice plans for me," she said with one of her loveliest smiles, "and I do appreciate your kindness. I remember your pretty home in that sunny land, and I know you would do your best to make me happy. I thank you from my heart for being so kind. But it would be quite impossible for me to leave here at present. There are business matters that I must settle, and there are plans that I have made that must be carried out. Also I have a lot of obligations here, things that Father left in my hands. I could not possibly go away anywhere now."

"But, my dear, you have been through so much. Your father's sickness and death must have been very hard on you, and I should think friends and obligations could wait while you have a time of resting and getting back your normal vivacity. You have a right to get away and get new poise after a shock like death."

Eden shook her head and smiled.

"My father's death was not a shock," she said sweetly. "He talked it all over with me months ago and prepared me for all the changes that would have to come. Of course, it was a great sorrow to have to lose him, but I understood, and he and I together planned out what I should do and how my time was to be occupied. Besides that, I have many friends here whom I enjoy and who mean much to me. I love my home, and our old servants are here. It is the normal place for me to stay. I am afraid I would be very homesick away from here, especially just now. Though I certainly do thank you for your very kind thought of me. I am only sorry that I am not in a position just now to ask you to come right home for a few days while you are in this vicinity. But, you see, we had a most unpleasant happening. A burglar broke into the house and tried to steal some of Father's valuable papers, just the day of his funeral, and our good old butler went out to try and catch him and got stabbed in the back. He has been very critically ill in the house ever since it happened, and that has somewhat disorganized our household, so that it would not be very convenient for us to try and have guests at present. That is the reason I came over at once, to explain, and to suggest that if you were to be in the vicinity later, say in a couple of months, before returning to the West, you might arrange to spend a few days with me then. I am quite sure Tabor will be well by that time. At least, the doctor says he is reasonably sure. Could you arrange your plans for that? You were so kind to invite me when I was in California that I would certainly like to return the favor."